


Distorted Lullabies

by nosferatvpussy



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: BBC Dracula - Freeform, Blood, Dracula/Reader - Freeform, Eventual Smut, F/M, Human/Vampire Relationship, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Violence, claes bang - Freeform, dracula netflix, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 103,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosferatvpussy/pseuds/nosferatvpussy
Summary: Count Dracula finds himself in the 21st century, 2020, after over a century of slumber. While still adapting to this new era, he meets Reader, a beautiful and witty lawyer working for Renfield's firm. While she seems resistant to his charms, the Count is adamant in winning her over. She just might make an excellent candidate as his bride. But will she withstand the change?
Relationships: Dracula/Reader
Comments: 315
Kudos: 305





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the summary is pretty vague (or bad) but I recognise I'm not good at those.  
> Anyway, here is my first fanfic on ao3. This is also my first time fully developing a story from a reader standpoint, so please have mercy. I'm used to working with OCs. Dracula's POV is in third person and Reader's POV is first person (I suck at second person).  
> English is not my first language so I'm open to pointers in that department. Feedback is very welcome (or just confused screaming, I like those too).  
> I'll try posting a chapter per week for however long I decide to drag this. I hope you all enjoy it!

He heard her footsteps long before she knocked on his door.

He stood sat on his armchair with a book on his lap, waiting. A loud song reached his ears, making him tilt his head. Hm. Interesting how humans could go around now with a tiny appliance that played music directly in their ears. The gramophone had lost its appeal and the wealth associated with it. Now everybody on the street carried one of those metal and glass slabs with strings attached to it, bobbing their head to their song of choice.

She was humming along with the song as she walked down the corridor to his building. Shifting in his seat, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A hint of perfume, coffee, strawberries and honey. Curious. Not a scent of her blood yet.

The clicking heels stopped as she paused the music and he rose. He took his time on the way to the door so she could adjust her belongings. Another deep intake of breath and he came to a halt, a sigh escaping his lips.

Oh, intoxicating.

He found that this new era had brought exquisite new flavours to his taste, but this one… ah, she was a mix of old european blood, found only in the hidden depths of the Carpathian Forest, and the lovely nuance of modernity. That old saying, you are what you eat applied to her as well. Whatever she was in habit of eating or drinking heavily influenced her scent. A nice, well preserved and safely kept bottle of wine, just for him. It quickly overpowered all the other scents surrounding her.

Knock, knock.

Throwing his head back to try and regain his composure, he opened the door. The door handle dented beneath his hand upon laying eyes on her. He expected her to pretty but he was met with far more than that.

“Yes?”, was all he could manage.

“I’m Y/N L/N,” she said as if it were explanatory. He stared at her blankly. “Renfield sent me, I’m from the lawyer firm? I brought you some documents to review.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” he stepped aside, opening one arm to invite her in and putting a smile on display.

She peered at him from the corner of her eyes as she passed him, quickening her pace as he took another whiff. He would have to be more cautious so as to not scare her away. But if she did flee that would only make him chase her and he would drink her down too quickly, without any appreciation whatsoever. And what a crime that would be.

“I brought you a cell phone, as well. Renfield mentioned you were stripped of yours when you were taken to the Foundation.” She placed her bag on a chair and her briefcase on top of the large center table of his flat. She had her back to him, giving him an opportunity to analyse her.

The tight clothes and missing fabric were something he still had to get accustomed with but he wasn’t complaining. If anything, he quite liked the fashion of this century. The fact that he could see her stockings was outrageous, black with a seam running down the center of each of her legs. In his time, she would have been lynched for having her undergarments on display like that. The black high heels were a nice touch. And then the tight pencil skirt outlining her curves… It left just enough for his imagination.

She turned around to see him standing there like a statue, the door still open. Ah, pity. How unfortunate that those shirts were still in fashion. He couldn’t recall the name humans gave it in this era and suddenly he hated it. The collar covered her neck entirely. In fact, now that he realized it the only skin showing on her body was on her face and hands.

“Count? Are you alright?”

"Perfectly fine, my darling,” he replied, closing the door at last and swallowing down the saliva that had welled up in his mouth. He strode over to her, placing his hands on the chair closest to her. “I apologise for my manners. It has been awhile since I had a guest over, you must think me a terrible host. Please, take a seat. Unfortunately I have only water and wine to offer you.”

She looked derisively at the chair offered to her. Her lips fought a smile and he encouraged it by smiling in return, but, no, she refused to give it to him.

“Renfield was right,” she whispered under her breath but he caught it. Louder, she said “Thank you but I’ll stand. I’m in a hurry today. Don’t you worry about me,” she extended a white box with a picture of that metal slab on the front. A cell phone, she had said. “Here you go, there’s already a simcard in it, your new number is written in the back. I’ve taken the liberty to set it up for you. I placed Renfield’s number on speed dial should you need it, he’s registered as 6. You **_do_** know how to handle one of these, right?”

“I catch on fairly fast,” opening the box and retrieving the phone. “And if I need to contact you?”

“You have no need to contact me. I’m simply running an errand for my boss,” she stated dryly, averting her eyes. “Here, if you could sign these for me to release the rest of your assets,” a pen was offered to him. He plucked it from her small fingers automatically.

It was not often that he met someone that resisted his charms. He could count on one hand, in fact. The Van Helsings, Johnny and now her. At the very least Agatha and Zoe had held some interest in him and Johnny had made himself a hero waging vengeance against him - especially now with the Jonathan Harker Foundation. But not her. Not one sliver of interest.

“Are you signing them or should I come back another da- evening?” she corrected herself, one hand on her hip and another raising to push her hair back. He caught a glimpse of the skin beneath her ear, paler than the rest of her.

He took his time signing each of the documents. When he was done, he gathered the papers in his hands, holding them flush against his chest so she wouldn’t get them and leave. She bit the insides of her cheeks, meeting his eyes with clear annoyance on them. Oh, fiesty. She was an impatient one. Maybe he had caught her on a bad day but he had a feeling she was always like this. He could not stop his smirk, which only made her heart beat faster in anger.

“And if I want to contact you? I promise you I will make it worth your while.”

“I don’t do dates with clients.”

“I’m not your client.”

That made her scoff.

“Right. You’re Renfield’s,” her eyes traveled up and down him, granting him a little satisfaction. “Still, I don’t do dates.”

“What if it’s not a date? I am new to London and I would appreciate if someone could show me the sights.”

“I’m not a tour guide,” she replied, her expression hardening.

“No, you’re a lawyer.”

“I’m well aware. Can I have those back?”, one hand out to him with a raised eyebrow.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Both of her hands went on her hips and she huffed, trying to make herself bigger as if she was demanding respect. The movement made her breasts press through her shirt, giving him a delightful sight. She grabbed her purse, swung it over her shoulder and proceeded to close her briefcase.

“Fine. Keep them. I’m late to an appointment at court. I’m sure Renfield can send someone else to get those papers. In the meanwhile, enjoy life without all your money.”

“How insolent of you,” he shot back but he was smiling. He doubted she would address him like that if she knew just what he was.

“Yes I am. I don’t have time for games.”

"This isn’t a game.”

“Isn’t it? I see right through you. God, and you must think you’re so innovative with all the european sophistication. I bet you’re used to having women throwing themselves at you as soon as you mention you’re a Count.”

“Usually I don’t have to mention it at all, in fact,” he intervened. She was about to continue but he carried on. “What was Renfield right about?”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. He cocked an eyebrow, shaking the papers as if to say he would give them to her if she answered.

“That you are not from here and that you are old fashioned.”

Listening attentively to her heart and how it skipped a beat, he shook his head to the sides.

“That’s not all. What else?”

“He said that you would try and gain my affections.”

The Count offered her the papers.

“Perhaps I ought to change lawyers. He clearly speaks more about his own clients than he should. Would you be available?”

And with that she chuckled. Ah, so the façade could be broken… at least for a second.

“I’m afraid I have a long list of clients at the moment, Count Dracula. If you commit a serious offense you may call on me to represent you,” she took the papers, her fingers briefly brushing against his cold skin. Her eyebrows furrowed but she was quick to conceal her startlement at his temperature. She started walking to the door as she stuffed the papers inside her bag and he accompanied her.

“I might just murder someone to take you up on your offer,” he said from behind her, in a tone much more serious than he intended. Still, she laughed at that, the sound ringing through the room.

He courteously opened the door for her and she turned on her heels, extending a hand for him.

“I apologise for being rude before but I will not apologise for setting boundaries. I hope you understand that, Count. And if you do decide to murder someone make sure to hide the evidence so it will be a good case for us.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

He grinned at her and she smiled back but without the warmth he presented her. A large hand slipped into hers and she shuddered. Gazing down unto her eyes he shook her hand which made her smile grow more confident. She had started to loosen her grip but he held her firmly. He bent forward and his lips caressed the back of her hand. She stared at him the whole time as if hypnotized and for a moment he thought he had gotten her in the palm of his hand but then she blinked and cleared her throat.

“Boundaries, Count Dracula, you should remember them if we meet again. Goodbye.”

“Bye now, my darling,” he called when she turned her back to him and started marching down the corridor, swaying her hips.

“Boundaries!” she repeated as she entered the elevator.

Before the doors closed he could swear he saw an amused glint in her eyes.

* * *

The Count sat on his armchair again, the book now forgotten as he thought about Y/N.

He was still indecisive about what to do with her. Simply draining her would not only be a waste of good blood but as well of character.

She demanded respect with every step of her heels. He would bet that she could cower many men with that stare of hers. Dracula had never met many lawyers and those that he did meet were fascinating in different ways. Johnny had been determined although slightly stupid. Renfield was a slave to his every wish. Should Dracula ask him to retrieve the fattest fish in the sea, the poor man would probably drown trying to get it. But she was an entirely different breed.

So strong-willed that it was a charm all on its own, without even striving for it to be as such. He had heard an expression on the television the other day that he thought might apply well to her - “my way or the highway”.

And such amazing beauty. Make up was far more popular in this century, he could tell, and he was quickly learning it could disguise many unwanted flaws but she used in such a way that it added to her beauty instead of covering it.Beautiful, impetuous, resolute… and a sense of humour that was surprisingly dark.

Ah… She would make quite the bride if she could withstand the change. And if she did not, he would make sure to savour every curve and every last drop of blood in her body.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a struggle to get out. I hope you enjoy it!

“But my Lord!” I exclaimed, doing my best to hurry after Judge Llewellyn and not slip on the wet steps of the Royal Courts of Justice. 

He opened his umbrella over his bald head, absolutely ignoring any attempt of being polite and offering me some cover. So I practically ran after him and stuck myself under his umbrella with him to avoid the pouring rain.

“Miss L/N!” he complained, furrowing his white caterpillar eyebrows. His dark eyes were tiny angry slits staring back at me as he continued walking. “Now you are being indiscreet! You were **_late_ **. I am sure whatever motion you have got to present can wait until the courts open again on Monday.”

“But it can’t wait, my Lord. Not only that but my team has also uncovered important information-” I spoke so fast I was surprised that every word came out clear as day.

“It can wait. Good evening to you!” he bumped his shoulder on mine as if to dismiss me but I wasn’t letting it go.

“It cannot wait, Llewellyn! If you give me a chance to file these motions this evening, the Wilkes children can return to their mother tonight!” He stopped walking abruptly and turned to scowl at me. I was going to get scolded, I knew it, but I couldn’t for the life of me shut up. “These children have suffered enough, my Lord. I am **_begging_ ** you. You wouldn’t let this happen to your own family.”

“You are out of line, Miss L/N!” he boomed as if we were in the courtroom. I had trained myself not to flinch anymore under duress but the glances we attracted certainly embarrassed me, especially since a few of them were from colleagues passing on the street. “You will address me as it is proper and you will not attempt to put my position in check! Those children are being well taken care of in Children’s Services. May I remind you that we are bound by oath to follow the law? Procedure is procedure and I will abide by it until I retire, which is far from happening. Do not presume that your pretty face will make things easier for you in my court. I expect better posture from you on Monday. Are we clear?”

I could not believe my ears.

Maybe I was out of line - I could agree with that - but I expected more compassion from a man who had been working as a Judge of the Family Division of the High Court for almost as long as I have been alive. But what truly left my mouth agape was the bit about my “pretty face”. If I hadn’t already made things bad I would have had a grand time of making a case of just how misogynistic that claim was. However, I was not going to give him any more reasons to hold me in contempt. 

“Crystal, my Lord,” I bit off, trying to meet his eyes without any defiance in them.

“I heard great things about you from Pauline McGowan,” I immediately unfurrowed my brows upon hearing the name of one the strictest professors I had had on Law School. “I hope she was not wrong. Use your brain, not your looks. Enjoy your weekend,” and he was gone, leaving me in the rain. 

“I am using my brain, you fucking twat,” I whispered to myself as I hurried out of the rain, taking shelter under a bus stop close by.

Judge Llewellyn had almost made it better by mentioning McGowan but then he ruined it by mentioning my looks. To say I was angry and insulted would be an understatement. _Toughen up_ , I told myself.

Ignoring the stares of my colleagues on the other side of the street, I whipped my phone out of my purse to order an Uber and papers came flying out, dancing in the wind, treacherously out of my reach. 

“Fucking hell!”

God, if those papers were damaged that would mean that I would have to get new official ones and take them to Count Dracula, again. And I would **_not_ ** do that. Seeing my distress a teenage boy decided to help me gather them and stick them back in my purse.

“Thanks! Really, thank you so much!” I said for the third time in a row. 

He kept staring at me with a silly smile on his face.

“Huhh- can I like… get your number?”

I blinked, digging my nails on the palms of my hands so I wouldn’t burst out laughing. What a fantastic end to a day. Not only had a Count made an attempt to woo me, but I was also insulted by a High Court judge and now I had a 15 year old asking for my number. Cute, yes, but what had I done to the universe to deserve this kind of attention?

“I don’t think so, love,” I managed, putting on an apologetic smile.

“Are you sure? Cus like we can-”

“She’s sure,” said a velvety voice with a hint of finality. 

I pivoted to my left to see Count Dracula standing over my shoulder with a polite grin plastered to his lips. I was drilling a hole through his skull with my eyes but he kept his stare on the boy as if I wasn’t there.

“I can take care of myself, thanks,” I said through gritted teeth. Yes, maybe he was trying to be polite but years and years of people talking over me had made me develop a reflex of shooting someone down even if they were on my side. And I knew I most definitely did not want Count Dracula on my side. He was too handsome to be good news.

“I don’t doubt that for a second, Y/N.”

“Are you following me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Finally taking the hint, the teenager shuffled to the other side of bus stop.

“Why would you think that?” he said very slowly.

“You live on the other side of London. And I’d say it is pretty unlikely we would bump into each other.”

“But not impossible. Perhaps fate is at play here, uniting us,” he bowed his head closer to mine, one hand dramatically draped on his chest.

“Charming...” I rolled my eyes. “What are you doing on Strand? There are far more beautiful sights in London.”

He made a show of looking around us as if to analyse the sights. Across from us, the gothic building that served as the Royal Courts was lit up in purple lights from below, casting shadows and highlighting every intricate detail of the structure. Our side of the street was all yellow lights and a mix of neoclassical and gothic design. 

Having lived in London all my life I barely realised just how unique and beautiful the city could be to a foreigner. Especially to someone who had lived most of his life isolated somewhere in Eastern Europe, as Renfield had mentioned to me. Strand had become part of my routine for the last years and I hardly paid attention to my surroundings during my daily commutes. Count Dracula, however, seemed to be quite fascinated by it.

“I decided to prowl the city in search of a good meal,” he said at last, taking a step closer so he was stood in front of me. From this angle I could see that he had something smudged on the side of his mouth. “Ended up there,” he indicated a corner at the end of the street with his head “and then I heard your lovely voice arguing with an old man as I finished eating.”

I surveyed him coolly. He smiled under my scrutiny, remaining very still. To be fair Strand did have fantastic restaurants and it was a tourist attraction. He could have just asked any cabbie to take him to a popular destination and ended up somewhere around here. If he was dropped off at Trafalgar Square, he could have wandered to the Courts. Finally, I decided it was not that unlikely that he had found himself all the way from Kensington to Strand.

“You have some sauce on your face,” was what came out of my mouth. I touched a finger to my lower lip to show him where. “What did you eat, bolognese pasta?”

He raised his thick eyebrows, smiling devilishly as if that was incredibly funny and pulled a handkerchief from an inside pocket of his blazer. 

“Rare steak, actually. Delicious. Thank you for warning me,” he said after wiping his mouth clean. I bobbed my head as a welcome. “What are your plans for the rest of the night? TGIF is what this generation says, right?”

Laughter escaped my lips before I could stop it. Hearing “TGIF” from a man of his prestige and age caught me completely off-guard. 

“Yes it is,” I answered, still laughing. “Until twenty minutes ago my plans consisted of going home, ordering takeout and binge watching Netflix until I passed out. But getting in argument with a judge certainly got to me. So I’m heading to Camden Town to get drunk. By myself,” I added so he would understand that I was not inviting him. _Why did I even give him so many details?_ I questioned, suddenly struggling to break eye contact with him.

“May I give you a lift? Merely being chivalrous,” he raised his hands, showing me his palms as if to add to his “innocent” claim. 

“Do you even have a car?”

“Not yet. But Renfield has been kind enough to lend me his in the meanwhile. It’s parked not far away from here,” he explained. Moving closer to me he placed a hand on the small of my back, “Please, it’s dark and while you are perfectly able to take care of yourself I would rest easier if I was the one to drive you to this town.”

“It’s not a town,” I replied. “It’s a district.” 

“Is that a yes?” he pulled his eyebrows together. 

He was an attractive man, I would give him that. Sexy, even. But from my experience that didn’t always equal nice things. However, my brain was starting to disconnect from my body and when his eyebrows did that I felt butterflies doing cartwheels on my stomach. Those traitors. 

_Use your brain_. Hm, maybe Llewellyn could act as my conscience if all else failed. 

I felt something poke me on the back of my ribs and I dodged Dracula’s hand to turn and look. An old lady sitting on the bus stop’s bench gazed at me attentively, milky blue eyes shifting between the Count and I. Her hair was white as snow but her face was hardly wrinkled, withstanding the test of age. 

“Go,” she whispered, winking at me. “He’s a good one. They don’t make men like this anymore. Trust me.”

My body immediately relaxed as I chuckled. Leaning closer to her, I winked back.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said in the same amused fashion.

She grinned for a second then her expression closed itself again, as if Count Dracula hadn’t witnessed the entire exchange. She shooed me away with her hand and a gleeful glint in her old eyes. 

Turning to Dracula, I caught the triumphant expression on his face. If he thought he had won this round then he was seriously mistaken.

“I’ll let you be chivalrous and accompany me there. But don’t think this is an opportunity to make another pass at me. I haven’t got more _insolence_ to spend today”, I took control of my lips before I could smile at using the same word he had accused me of earlier “and I’m trying to be friendly. So, **_behave_ **.”

A grin slowly emerged on his face, exhibiting white teeth and pouring all his charm into it. His fine lines only appeared when he smiled or frowned which made me question his true age. It made him all the more alluring.

“For now,” he responded, placing a hefty hand on the small of my back again. 

* * *

Most of the drive to Camden was surprisingly quiet. I was the only one speaking from time to time to give him directions. But then when he finally made a curve that brought us right into the heart of Camden, an awed sound escaped him. 

The neon lights from store signs tinted the inside of the car in red and green. The cloudy night sky had gained a wonderful violet tonality that said that more rain would come but that didn’t stop the Camden streets to be overcrowded. Looking out the window, I could see people getting tattooed inside the nearest tattoo parlour. Vintage shops, pubs, restaurants and the food market all of them busy with boisterous noise from people and music. 

It was a stark contrast to London’s weather. 

“I love it here,” I told Dracula. 

“I… love it, too,” he almost whispered, gawking at two girls with pink hair passing on the street. “Uncanny.”

“That’s a good way to describe it. Hey, there’s a good parking spot,” I pointed ahead to an alley that ran between a salon and an adult store. 

He gaped at the adult store window display, showcasing a mannequin clad in latex, a cape and fangs drawn on over its lips. Handcuffs held the mannequin’s hands together while another mannequin was positioned as if to show them whipping the other one. 

Count Dracula laughed suddenly and I joined him when he couldn’t seem to stop. 

“It’s a trend at the moment in this side of the world,” I explained between laughs. 

The car behind us honked and the Count finally made the turn to the alley, parking behind a row of motorbikes.

“Vampires are a trend?” he asked, killing the car’s engine.

“They haven’t been out of fashion since the 90s, especially. But I was talking about the BDSM thing,” I grabbed my briefcase and purse and opened my door. 

Count Dracula was standing there a mere second later, holding the door open for me and offering a hand. Frowning, I did a double take between him and the driver’s seat. How had he moved so quickly? I shrugged it off, thinking that he must have gotten out of the car while I was distracted getting my things.

Accepting his hand, I let him support me while I got out of the car. We were awfully close to each other, I realised with a start. I had to look up from his chest to meet his eyes, which glowed red under the neon lights. 

“What’s that?” he muttered. It was pure luck that the alley was deserted, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to hear him over Camden’s noise.

The alley was empty. And I was alone in the dark with a man whom I didn’t know very well. My heart hurt as if a hand had squeezed it. Shit. I could feel the tips of my fingers going numb and my legs getting cold from fear. 

When had I stopped using my brain and ended up here?

As if sensing my fear, his nostrils flared for a moment and then he stepped back, giving me enough space so I could breathe. 

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, I was being-”

“Polite, I know,” I finished before he could.

Yellow light from a lamppost shone on him when he stepped back and I stared at his face. He was either truly sorry or very good at faking it. We looked at each other for what seemed a long time before I started to relax. 

I wasn’t particularly scared of him, I decided after analysing the situation for a second. Being a woman I had been brought up with an instilled and sensible fear of men in general, as it is with most women - unfortunately. 

Count Dracula opened his mouth to say something but I was faster.

“It’s fine,” I said reassuringly, to him or myself I wasn’t sure. “Your chivalry doesn’t seem to fit with how on edge I am as a person. Why don’t we tone it down for a minute?” Willing my heart to slow down by taking deep breaths, I sauntered past him towards the shiny and inviting colours of Camden’s markets. I turned around, seeing Dracula with his hands stuffed inside his pockets and a puzzled look on his face. “Are you coming?”

“You want me to come with you?” 

“You obviously like Camden. I’m not leaving you around someplace you don’t know, looking like that. You’ll just attract trouble,” I gestured with my head so he would follow me. 

Turning the tables for a second made me feel slightly better. He was a tall man and he had this vaguely menacing air about him that made me doubt that he attracted more trouble than the occasional horny person with working eyes. There was no denying he was nice to look at. He just would not attract the same kind of trouble as I would, that was a fact.

“Looking like what, exactly?” he asked when he caught up with me. 

“I don’t need to tell you how you look like. You have looked at yourself in the mirror, I trust,” I shot back with a smirk. 

“I try to avoid them, actually. I would much prefer if you gave me your thoughts on how I look like.”

Chuckling, I tugged the sleeve of his blazer so he wouldn’t go past the entrance of my favourite pub. The light banter was a good way to relieve my previous anxiety.

“I’m not feeding your ego anymore than that,” I turned to flash him an amused smile as I pushed the door open. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk,” he made, knitting his brows and making an excellent job at feigning indignation. 

An involuntary image popped into my head of him making that sound at me while holding the handcuffs from the adult store. I swiveled my face away so he wouldn’t catch the desire that had undoubtedly appeared on my eyes.

_Use your brain, use your brain, use brain._

We made our way to the counter dodging the seas of people laughing drunkenly. It took us a few seconds but we managed to wiggle our way up to the nearest barmaid. I waved my hand to get her attention and she signaled back that she’d seen me. 

While we waited, the music changed to Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode and I absently started mouthing the words and moving to the beat of the song. I felt more than saw Dracula shifting closer to me and I stopped dancing, fully turning my body so we were facing each other and putting my hips well away from his grasp so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. 

Dark eyes met mine, a fire burning in them that could have made my cheeks blush a few years ago. I put on my best deadpan expression so he would give up but it was fruitless. 

Shifting closer still, he said “You didn’t answer my question before.”

“Which one?”

“What’s BDSM?” he asked precisely when the barmaid came to take our orders.

The barmaid’s mouth fell open for a second but she quickly recovered from it and sniggered.

“Okay…” she drew out. “What can I get you?”

“Rum and coke,” I looked at Count Dracula, looking curiously between me and the woman. “What will you have?”

“Nothing, thanks,” he nodded his head at the barmaid to dismiss her and she left. Seeing my furrowed brows, he added. “I don’t drink… alcohol.”

“I’m sure they serve non-alcoholic drinks here,” I raised my hand to get the attention of the barmaid again. 

“No need.”

A large hand closed around my wrist and politely pushed it down but did not let go. Instead, he used it to bring me closer. My eyes flickered from his and to his hand as a silent request to let me go. He loosened his grip but kept his hand on me. I pulled back to create distance between us. 

“BDSM stands for bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism… I think. I’m not entirely knowledgeable on the subject. Mostly it’s related to sex but that’s not exclusively the norm.” My response broke his attention on me for a second while he considered it.

“ _Oh!_ ” He joined his hands and chuckled. “So there is a name for it now. How delightful.”

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish trying to find my words. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his, that’s how dumbfounded I was by the implications of his answer. Slowly, he let his gaze travel over me when he stopped laughing and a chill went down my spine. He was undressing me with his gaze, I knew it and I stood there allowing myself to feel desired for a second before taking control back.

I was still trying to work out how exactly I was going to regain control when the barmaid saved me by returning with my drink. Finally, I rescued my arm from the Count’s grip and took hold of my glass. I downed half of it in two gulps.

“You promised me you’d behave,” I declared. God, it was a challenge to maintain eye contact with him but I was _not_ losing this battle. 

“I didn’t promise you anything, my dear,” his eyes shone mischievously. 

Fuck, he really hadn’t. But if he wanted to play a power game, I could do it. 

“I have no interest in you,” liar, my body screamed at me. “So let’s keep it friendly or I’ll leave.”

Dracula inhaled deeply, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He straightened for a second on his barstool but then relaxed again, placing an elbow on the counter. The staring contest between us was put on pause and he met my eyes with curiosity instead of heat. 

“The judge,” he said simply. “You are clearly someone who does not accept being undermined, so why let him talk to you like that?”

I stared at him. A single black eyebrow jumped up, waiting. 

“You’d make a fine lawyer”, I conceded with a small smile.

“Why’s that?”

“You asked me a question that’s perfect to incriminate a defendant. Why would I surrender to him but not you?” I swallowed down the last of my drink, keeping my eyes on him and he grinned from ear to ear. “By following that logic, once I surrendered to Judge Llewellyn it is plausible that I surrender to you as well, is it not?”

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth,” he rubbed his chin, a full grin still stamped on his mouth. 

“Mm-hm,” I grinned back. “I don’t have the option to be rude to a judge while working. I was out of line and he was right to call me out on that. As much as I don’t like being treated a certain way for being a woman and looking the way I do, withstanding that treatment is just something I’ve got to deal with on a daily basis.”

“Ah, I see,” his grin faltered for a second and then slowly faded. “And if things were different?”

“Oh, I would whip Llewellyn into submission until he granted me respect,” I shot back, laughing at my own joke. “But I’m not power hungry like that. I like having just enough to have some control.”

“Seems we are drifting back into BDSM territory.”

My laughter came easily again. The rum was obviously starting to affect me already.

“This conversation is taking a weird turn. Let’s go back to basics,” I suggested while showing my empty glass to the nearest bartender. He nodded back to indicate he’d bring me another one. “You sound quite English. I suppose you had a good teacher all the way in... Hungary?” I guessed. 

“Romania,” he corrected, rolling his R and accentuating the last syllable. It was the first hint of his actual accent I had heard coming from his lips. “Indeed. Coincidentally, this teacher of mine was a lawyer like you.”

And with that, the conversation moved forward much smoother. Of course with the occasional banter that seemed to be a requirement whenever we opened our mouths. Still, it flowed nicely, the back and forth of questions we had for one another. By the end of the night, I had acquired a sense of trust in him simply because I knew more about him. 

He explained that his actual title was _Voivode_ , which was closer to Prince than Count but he preferred the latter because he considered that “Wallachia’s principality was an obsolete system constantly defied by usurpers”. I noticed that he constantly referred to Wallachia, the region where he was born, rather than using the name Romania. 

He stated nonchalantly that he was a widower to many brides, which struck me as odd at first but everyone dealt with grief differently. More than once I saw him picking his words as to not give away too much but I didn’t judge him on that for I did the same. He only slipped once upon mentioning a friend by the name of Agatha of whom he had been very fond of but had drowned during a boat trip. When talking of her, I was fascinated by the wistfulness in his voice and the delighted smile that took control of his mouth. Perhaps the rum had played its part but I found it heartwarming to hear him speak so highly of someone who had clearly meant a lot to him.

The more we spoke, I realised he had much more depth than he let on. Sure, he was a cocky bastard but one that wanted more from the world than what his title could provide. Curiosity drove him. He wanted to “drink up” the knowledge from this era which he had been deprived of for so long. 

When he’d had enough of talking about himself he started prodding me with various questions, most of which I had laughed off because they were too complex for my brain on alcohol. Some of them were standard questions people made when getting to know one another, as why did I choose to go to Law School, did I have brothers and sisters, had I been abroad. But they got progressively deeper such as would I live forever if I could, would I kill anyone if there were no consequences, did I believe in magic. 

“Are you scared of dying?” he asked me at last. 

Too distracted eating chips and downing yet another glass of rum and coke, he placed his hand over mine when I didn’t answer right away.

“Are you?” the intensity on his voice made me blink.

I tried to focus and ground myself in reality. Fixing my stare on him, I let the darkness in his eyes engulf me and drown the sounds around us. For a second he was the only person in the room. My heartbeat raced. I was unsure if it was my body trying to sober me up or just him.

“This is an important question for you,” I stated. 

“Yes. And I would very much like to hear your answer.”

I licked my lips and shut my eyes in thought. It broke the bubble of darkness that had settled about us and the noise came crashing back, flooding my senses with music, laughter and excited voices. 

His hand was still over mine and I moved my own so I could interlace my fingers on his as an attempt to focus. 

“It doesn’t matter,” I mumbled, still staring at the pitch black of my eyelids.

“What?”

“Death doesn’t matter. It just happens to people. Were there times I contemplated it? Yes. But it does not matter because I am alive and will eventually die as does everyone on this planet.”

His fingers tightened around mine and I opened my eyes to watch his reaction but there was nothing there. His face was empty, likening one of a statue.

“I think I’ve drank a little too much. Alcohol has a way of making me more insightful than normal,” mumbling and suddenly feeling like I had done something wrong, I withdrew my hand. It was as cold as his. “Will you take me home?”

* * *

“You can stop here,” I told Count Dracula and he diminished the car’s speed until we came to a halt. 

“They all look the same,” said he, admiring the terraced houses that continued down the street. I could see the Clapham Common’s lights very dimly ahead of us.

“That one’s mine,” I pointed to the closest. It was the only one that had bushes of red and white roses decorating the small garden in front of it. Hugging my belongings, I gave him a small smile. “Thank you. You behaved quite nicely.” I patted his shoulder. 

“One of us had to do it,” he smiled back.

I scoffed.

“I was going to say I behaved like a perfect lady but I’m not a lady,” I grabbed the door handle and pushed it open in the same movement, which resulted in my purse and briefcase spilling out of my lap and falling to the street. “Ah, shit!”

Not a moment later, Dracula was out of the car and had taken my things under one of his arms. 

“I should show you to your door,” he said, offering me his free arm. “Wouldn’t want you tripping.”

I laced my arm with his and kicked off my heels, not minding that my stockings were the only thing between my feet and the freezing asphalt. I leaned down and picked up my shoes with one hand.

“Less likely to trip now but I’m still not fully sober, so I’ll accept the offer, oh good sir,” I giggled at my own joke.

The automatic light over my door came on when we stepped past the short iron gate that guarded my garden from the street. I wiggled free of Dracula’s arm and turned to him.

“I need my purse,” I informed. “To get my key,” I added when he didn’t seem to register what I had said. 

He swallowed and grimaced as if that took great effort. Staring down at the ground, he gave me my things. I frowned, thinking if my joke had been in poor taste while I dug for keys inside my purse. A small sound of joy came out of me when I found them much faster than I usually did. 

I was trying to fit them in the keyhole when a low groan reached my ears. I spun to see Dracula standing way closer to me than he had a moment before. His head was thrown back, face turned upward and parted lips, as if he was praying. He groaned again, harshly this time. 

“Are you alright?” I asked, already fishing for my cell phone inside my purse in case I needed to call an ambulance.

A step closer and then his hands were holding my forearms. I dropped my stuff to ground with the sheer force in which he grabbed me. He pushed my back against the door, standing so much taller than me that he completely obscured the light above us. 

“A taste. Just… a taste,” he spoke as if he was struggling to get the words out.

Barely breathing, I tried looking up into his face but he smashed his lips to mine before I could catch his eyes. My eyebrows shot up and I moaned in protest, struggling to push him away with my hands but he still had me well within his grasp. He stopped abruptly, leaning his forehead on mine. My nose was glued to his and I could feel my breath ricochet on his face. 

“Count- no. I don’t think we should,” I all but whispered because it was all the strength I had in me. Appealing to reason, _good_ , I told my brain. 

And then his lips were on my cheeks, veering closer to my mouth for a second and then back to my cheeks, making a trail all the way to my earlobe and throwing all reason out the window.

“Please, please,” he whispered back, almost pleadingly. A kiss on my jawline made me shudder. A slow lick to the same place he had just kissed rid my body of all the stiffness it had built up. “Let me, my dear, let me…”

He retraced the path he had created and found my lips again. I exhaled, relenting to his touch. This time, my tongue greeted his and he groaned in response. His hands released my arms and circled my body, greedily seizing my hips and squeezing. My fingers found their way inside his shirt and I allowed my nails to lightly scrape the skin on the nape of his neck. He sucked my bottom lip to the point where it hurt but it only served to intensify the waves of pleasure flowing through my body. 

A cry of protest left my mouth when he stopped the kiss. But then he followed that glorious path to the skin on my jaw and I shut up. One of his hands snaked up, finding my shirt’s collar and pushing it down. I pressed my body closer to his, striving to feel more of him, and in response his fingers digged down on my ass harshly. 

Finally, his lips touched my neck and I tilted my head to grant him better access. Teeth lightly chafed the sensitive skin between sloppy and wet kisses until I was out of breath. Sharp pain followed for a second and I stiffened into his arms only to relax again when he held me tightly. A distinct mix of pleasure and pain flooded my body in a way I had never felt before and a moan tore out of me. 

_I’m going to have the biggest hickey ever tomorrow_ , was my last coherent thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge on law is very limited to Law and Order and to my mother's own experience as a prosecutor in my country. So I apologise to UK law graduates reading this (if there are any), I hope I didn't completely butcher the very beginning of this chapter. Also hope I didn't ruin London's geography - I have only been there once many years ago for the span of a week. Google was truly my friend when writing this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: mentions of sexual abuse, vulgar language

* * *

My phone rang.

Moaning sleepily, I rolled over on the bed searching blindly for it on the bedside table. My fingers found the vibration’s source and grabbed it. I peeked out of one eye so I could see the screen and accept the call, without taking notice of who was calling.

“Yeah?” I answered, closing my eyes again.

“I want to know everything.”

“Diana?” 

“Who else?” said my neighbour. “You missed our breakfast so I expect it was an above average night for you.”

“You’re so nosy!” I complained but chuckled. “Was I loud?” I grimaced, expecting the worst and imagining my other neighbour’s faces at me the next time I decided to stroll down the street.

“Well, I definitely heard you but I’m literally one door away from you. And Jack and Suze are on holiday so, you don’t have to worry about them. Come outside, I’ve made us lunch.”

“‘Kay. Give me a minute and I’ll be right there.”

I sighed and, phone still in hand, attempted to get up but immediately lied down again upon feeling that I had a stiff neck. Staring at the ceiling, my mind flashed back to last night and I smacked my forehead. 

“World’s biggest hickey, indeed,” I muttered as I strained to get out of bed. “Ow, ow, ow.” 

I opened the curtains on my way to the bathroom and squinted at the uncharacteristic sunlight that streamed in. Peeking out of the window, I could see a pristine blue sky and no clouds in sight. Hopefully it would last. 

I caught my reflection on the mirror as soon as I entered the bathroom and paused. My hair was tousled and I had dark circles around my eyes. My upper lip was a bit colourless but the bottom one had an unnatural shade of violet as a reminder of my make out with the Count. A little makeup would disguise it so Diana wouldn’t have more reasons to pick on me. My hands started pulling my hair back so I could brush my teeth without it slipping into the sink but shock paralysed me.

There, on the left side of my neck I had teeth marks imbedded on my skin. If they had been just outlines that would have been fine - I had had one of those before in encounters with previous lovers - but I had punctures this time.

“He bit me,” I spoke to myself, my faint voice echoing in the bathroom. 

I leaned towards the mirror to inspect it up close. The skin around the laceration was discoloured and slightly swollen to the touch. There was no blood at all. It couldn’t have been a very deep bite because my body was already making a light scab over the wound.

“What the fuck…” 

My brain raced searching for a plausible explanation as I stared at myself. There was none. Anger replaced shock and I grabbed my phone, cycling through the contact list. I silently thanked myself for saving his new number in case I had needed to speak with him regarding his assets. I called three times to no avail. Steam was probably coming out of my ears as I typed a message to him.

> **YOU FUCKING BIT ME! Expect the police to knock on your door today, you wanker.**

All of my hypothesis as to why he had done that involved some sort of mental disorder. Number one, he was just fucking crazy. Number two, he had a fetish for biting people. Number three, he suffered from delusions that he was a vampire. And every other form of variation surrounding that.

I waited a few more minutes for a reply or a call back from him but nothing happened. 

I debated whether I should clean the wound or not but if I wanted the police to get DNA so I could get a proper case built against him, it was best I didn’t wash it. Although the wound certainly didn’t look pretty, there was nothing that indicated an infection.

There was a rasp on my back door and then Diana called my name. 

“I’m going!” I yelled. 

After having used the toilet, brushed my teeth and hair, I dabbed some concealer around my eyes and put on a light shade of lipstick to cover the lip bruise Count Dracula had given me. I changed from my pajamas into an acceptable outfit, which included a red scarf tied around my neck, and went out into the back garden I shared with Diana.

Diana was not only my neighbour but also the world’s nicest landlady. Her house and mine used be conjoined which is why we shared the back yard. Years ago, when Diana’s husband died, she’d decided to separate the two houses again and rent one of them. She was still looking into splitting the garden by placing a wood fence when I moved in. We had grown so close over the years that she had given up on installing a fence and just left it the way it was. 

We took turns on making breakfast for each other every Saturday and we usually ate on a picnic table on the covered patio that sat adjacent to Diana’s backdoor. But today, Diana had set the table on the very back of the garden with a parasol shielding a round wooden table and two chairs. The bird fountain on the far left was on and birds were happily singing and chirping as they stood beneath the shooting streams of water.

The blinding sun paired with such a joyous scene made it hard for me to stay mad and I found myself beaming at Diana.

“Good morning!” she cheered.

Diana had her long hair on a plait which gave it a cool effect now that she had stopped dyeing her hair and embraced the silver. That didn’t mean she was fully accepting of aging - she had a fair amount of botox on her forehead and around her eyes. Working as a marketing director for a big cosmetics company for over 20 years will do that to any person. Plus if she looked a day over 40 it wouldn’t exactly be the best marketing strategy. 

I was the closest thing to a child to her, well, besides the 5 cats she owned. Ever since Gerard, her husband, died ten odd years ago she hadn’t experimented with dates or lovers because she thought nobody would ever live up to him. And so she lived vicariously through my love escapades.

“Morning!” 

I had barely sat down and she was already serving me a plate of spaghetti on creamy mushroom sauce, my favourite of hers. She was about to pour me a glass of white wine but I covered the glass with my hand.

“Hangover?” She winced sympathetically.

“Not the worst one but yes.” I poured myself a glass of water and gulped it down.

“So? Name, age, what does he do, how was he in bed… Go.” 

I frowned as I drank the last of my water. 

“Hm… I- I don’t think we had sex,” I said. 

Diana lowered her fork that had been on the way to her mouth and frowned back. 

“You don’t remember?”

“Well, I remember kissing him at my door. And then he-” I touched the scarf absently and put on my courtroom face before my eyes could pop out of my head.

I had blacked out. I had no memory about what had happened after he’d bitten me. I didn’t even remember putting on my pajamas. He could have done way more than just bit me. 

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

“He what?”

“Uh, he gave me a hickey but yeah I don’t remember much after that. Honestly I drank a lot of rum yesterday and I’m having a small case of amnesia right now. I’m sure it will come back to me later.” _God, I fucking hoped so._

“But you are not sure if you had sex with him?”

“99% sure I didn’t,” I conceded. “I’d be sore if I had and I’m not.”

“He could have been gentle about it.”

“Trust me, he would not have been gentle.” I forced a laugh.

That got Diana’s attention away from my blackout and she started goading for more information. The rational part of my brain placed itself on autopilot as we had lunch and talked about Count Dracula. For once I was glad about the courtroom face I had acquired over the years and the amount of insensitivity that came with it, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to keep talking without panic taking over. 

After Diana was satisfied with all the details I had given her, we moved topics to Judge Llewellyn and the wretched amount of sexism we had both experienced in our lines of work. It was a good outlet for the anger I was feeling towards Dracula. 

Two hours later we said our goodbyes and parted with a promise to go grocery shopping together the next day. 

Once in the comfort and security of my living room I realised I had lied to Diana about the bite without even noticing I’d done that. If I had, then Diana would insist in taking me to the police station and keeping me company the whole time I was there, which was a very good idea. So why had I lied? She was my friend and with how I was starting to panic, I wanted emotional support. 

But there was a tiny part of me that didn’t want anyone else to know about the bite, like it was a private and very intimate thing. As if it was a secret to be kept very safe between Count Dracula and I.

Sitting on my sofa, I flickered my eyes to the front door. I should go to the police station, yes but my body was willing myself to keep sitted and remain there. 

My phone beeped and with a glance, I knew I had to stay put.

> **We’ll talk after sunset.**

* * *

The police didn’t go to his home so, he presumed she had not paid them a visit. Or, and that was also very likely, London’s police was terrible at their job. Either way, he was surprised to hear her heartbeat coming from inside the house. He had expected her to flee upon receiving his text and, oh, if she did he would find her. But now that he had gotten acquainted with her scent and marvelous taste, there was no mistake that she was inside the house, waiting for him.

He smiled, pleased that he wouldn’t have to hunt her down across London, and rang the doorbell. 

“Come in!” she shouted from the inside. 

Black eyebrows shot up on the Count’s forehead. Easy, a little too easy, even.

He turned the doorknob, pushed it open and waited. For what exactly, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps another attempt to capture him by Johnny’s Foundation or a trap by Scotland Yard but there were no other heartbeats coming from the house.

He made his way in, listening attentively for her. There were several photos of her and friends, presumably, on the walls. One of them was with… Hm, what was her name? His tongue rubbed the top of his mouth in an attempt to evoke the memories he had consumed along with her blood. Ah, Diana. Lovely woman. He might have a taste of her, too.

“There you are,” he said upon finding Y/N sitting on the living room. 

The room wasn’t particularly big but it served as a library large enough to cause envy on the best of individuals. Vinyl records were set up as decoration on the wall behind the sofa where she was sat. A stone fireplace and the TV broke the overall “vintage” look. It was hardly vintage to him but he had missed several decades that were now considered old to humans. 

She looked up at him tiredly and stood up from the sofa, stretching like a cat which caused several of her brones to crack and a moan to erupt from her throat. A corner of his mouth twitched up as a response to the sound.

“Will you give me a second so I can order food? I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

The Count stood there, nonplussed, as she grabbed her phone and started clicking its screen. He expected screaming, a slap to the face or crying, but not this. Not this at all. 

For starters, it was unusual that she had remembered having been bitten. Even more unusual that she had been able to sent him a text calling him a “wanker”. On the night before, he had meant to put her under his thrall, much like he had done to Renfield, as an experiment to see if he could bend someone as willful as her. Considering that she had successfully insulted him, it had failed and he was pleasantly surprised with that. After he received that text, he had prepared himself for a scandal. 

“Y/N.” 

A few more clicks on the screen and she looked up at him, a mix of exhaustion and anger on her eyes.

“I couldn’t move all day, did you know that? Waiting for you. I couldn’t control my body, like a fucking puppet waiting for its master to move the strings.”

“What?”

“If obeying your every command-" she stood on her tiptoes, putting her nose close to his as he instinctively leaned closer "-is part of being a vampire then I don’t bloody want it." Her voice was low, acquiring a tinge of what she probably considered threat. 

He couldn’t stop his lips from parting and his eyes from widening. She knew, she _knew_! 

“Oh, how have I underestimated you!” he exclaimed, a grin sprouting in his face. 

“Save it, toothy,” she said as she jammed a finger on his chest. “I’m going to have a shower and you’ll wait here so we can talk later.”

“Watch your tongue,” he warned. 

He was more amused by her anger than insulted but he wanted to put the spell he had on her to the test. Defiant eyes met his and her upper lip curled, almost like a snarl.

“I will do no such thing,” she enunciated every word carefully with a smug smile. 

He held her stare, admired that her insolence had persevered and she had no fear of him. Apparently thinking she’d won, she turned her back on him and left the room. 

Dracula barely registered the sounds of her footsteps on the upper floor and the shower running. He was too trapped in thought to take any notice of it. 

He sunk down exactly where she had been sitting, an awed smile still in his face. Usually, when he chose a person to feed on and truly enjoy their blood for a longer period of time, a spell took over them so they wouldn’t notice the bites or have any memory of the fact. They would just go about life oblivious to what was happening. It had worked on Johnny and even worked on Agatha, although it only lasted so long on her. 

It had not worked at all on Y/N. Except… She had some level of obedience to him. Not the same as Renfield’s, of course, but enough to make her immobile through all afternoon. Still it didn’t make much sense because he hadn’t ordered her to remain still and wait for him but that’s what she had done. 

Anticipation grew within him and he almost went up the stairs to question her exactly how she’d pieced together that he was a vampire. Impulsivity nearly got the better of him but the ringing doorbell kept him from bolting upstairs. 

Ah, her food was here. He had some reparations to make with her if he wanted her to be as good a bride as Johnny had been, so he stood up from the sofa and went to the door to receive the meal. The paper bag informed him that it was Thai cuisine, which he sadly hadn’t had the opportunity to try yet but in a metropolis like London it shouldn’t be too hard to find Thai blood. 

After dismissing the man who had delivered the food, Dracula brought the food to her kitchen where he found plates and cutlery. As she finished her shower and slipped out of the bathroom, he occupied himself with setting up a table on her dining room. After some searching in drawers he found linen napkins and candles. He was finishing lighting the candles placed on the center of the table when she came down the stairs. 

She stopped under the arch that led to the dining room and glared at the special decoration. Droplets of water cascaded from her hair and her skin glowed as if she had light stored behind her flesh. She had on an oversized jumper which concealed her shape but her legs were on display. They were a different shade than the rest of her skin, a little light as if they hadn't seen the sunrays in a long time, but that didn’t take away from the beauty of them. 

Dracula wondered how they would feel wrapped around him, the feel of her warm skin against his, how she would trap him with those legs while he entered her. The blood running through her veins pumped in anger as he gazed at her. If she’d let him he could feed from a particularly delicious vein on her inner thigh. The thought of it made him hard.

“Stop that,” she said, breaking the trance. 

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like you are deciding between fucking me or drinking me dry.”

“Why not both?” 

She winced as if his words had hurt her.

“Last night… Did we- did **_you_ ** do something else to me?” 

Suddenly understanding the pain that had passed her face moments ago, he shook his head. 

“No,” he responded firmly. “You were nearly unconscious. After I was done, I waited until you could stand on your own and sent you inside.”

“So you didn’t-?” She gulped and crossed her arms in front of her. 

“Rape you?” he completed and she winced again. “No. I would never. Consent is important to me in that matter.” 

He didn’t want her to be scared of him and right now, he could smell her fear. Trust, most of all, was what he wanted from her. Perhaps that would be the right ingredient when making a perfect bride. Lucy, whom he’d met just two nights before he met Y/N, trusted in him enough to completely give herself to him, body and mind. Lucy, however, was too… malleable. Y/N’s nearly unbreakable iron-will was admirable and he was certain that because of it she’d be unparalleled as a bride. 

Having that consideration in mind, he forced himself to put his good manners aside and, instead of offering her a chair, made his way around the table and took the seat furthest from her. The crease between her eyebrows softened and she nodded to acknowledge his action, sitting down at the head of the table. She opened the food container and carefully tipped it over her plate. The strong smell of spices made his nose tingle and his mouth water - not at the food but at the taste her blood would acquire after she ate it. 

“So, enlighten me,” he leaned back, crossing his hands over his chest. “If you know what I am why would you invite me in?”

She raised a finger as she chewed on the food, eyes rolling back in pleasure. He rubbed his fingers together as an attempt to concentrate but she was determined to make it difficult to him, it seemed. 

“Quid pro quo, Clarice. You tell me things I tell you things,” she said after swallowing. Seeing the frown on his face, she waved a hand. “Film reference, forget it. But you get the meaning.” He nodded so she would continue but reminded himself to watch a film by the name of Silence of the Lambs, at least that was the title her blood provided. “I had to invite you in. My body told me to.”

“Your body?” He leaned forward, eyebrows raising as he considered it. “How-”

“No,” she interrupted. “My turn. How long do I have?”

“What?”

“Until I start wanting to rip people apart,” she said before taking another bite from her food. 

“Oh, that. I didn’t take enough blood to turn you.” 

“But you will?”

“Yes.” He smiled.

“Do I have a say in this?”

“No.”He eased himself back to rest on the chair. “You may try to run and hide but I **_will_** find you. The outcome will be the same if you don’t run so let’s not make it harder on ourselves, shall we? This will be much more pleasurable if I have your consent.” She stabbed daggers with her eyes and opened her mouth to talk but it was his turn to raise a finger to ask for silence. “You’ve asked too many questions already. Tell me how you came to know what I am.”

“It wasn’t very hard putting it together. You are not exactly discreet,” she said in a snide tone. “At first, I thought you were insane. Although I was stuck playing statue all afternoon, I still had my phone with me and I could move my hands just fine. So I accessed our database, the law firm’s database that is, and searched for your file. I was looking for a criminal file or hospital records.”

She paused to eat some more and Count Dracula once again took a moment to appreciate this decade’s technology. A mobile phone contained a world of information just one click away. If those were around the time of Inquisition, the entire population would be burned for heresy and witchcraft.

“Imagine my surprise upon seeing you have been a client of ours since the 1890s,” she continued. “I thought that was probably a mistake, that maybe an ancestor of yours with the same name had been a client in the past. But I found a black and white photo in the file. Nobody is exactly identical to an ancestor so I was sure it had to be you.” She cleared her throat. “Then it was matter of putting 2 and 2 together… Renfield had said that you are only available after dark, so there was that. And then there was your cold skin, the bite and the apparent immortality. That’s a vampire if I’ve ever met one and, well, now I have.”

“How many people have access to that information?”

“Technically only Renfield. I was his intern when I started at the firm and I know all his passwords. That’s how I gained access...” her mouth fell open. “Is he a vampire, too? Is that why he is the only one permitted to see your files?”

The Count laughed.

“Hardly. He is a servant.”

She glowered at him.

“I don’t serve anyone,” she said in a small voice. “I felt enslaved today while I waited for you, unable to move… Please don’t do that to me.”

He had tried to do that and, though it hadn’t worked, almost regretted trying. He didn’t enjoy seeing her humiliation now or hearing the meekness in her voice. If she was anyone else it could have amused him but what he liked about her was the power and boldness she exuded. Stripping her of those would be like knocking the moon and stars out of the sky. Would anyone admire the night sky if they were not there? 

“You are not a servant and you will never be one.” He tilted his head as something occurred him. “Why did you not call the police?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My body wouldn’t obey my commands-” She straightened her shoulders and lowered her eyes for a second before meeting his again. “I didn’t want anybody to know about the bite because part of me knew that **_you_ ** wouldn’t want that.”

“Ah.” He nodded, finally making sense of it. “Loyalty, that was what bound you to me, then. You’re not a servant and you’re not blindly loyal to me as Renfield is, it seems. Wanker, right? That’s the name you called me.” She smiled at that. “It proves you’re not a servant, otherwise you wouldn’t even think such thing. I suspect that you are only bound to the vampire in me, which is why you couldn’t go the police. Your tie to me prevents you from revealing it to other people.”

“Like I signed an NDA where I can’t talk about you being a vampire or anything related to that,” she said, regaining some of the strength on her voice as she made sense of it. “An NDA is something two or more parties sign when-”

“I know what a non-disclosure agreement is,” he interrupted.

“Were those around in your time?” She returned her attention to the food on her plate.

“I don’t think so,” he said. She was taking everything in fairly well. He wondered how much more she would be able to digest in one sitting. “I know what it is because you do. It’s in your blood.”

Alarm made her hand move brusquely and the food on her fork dropped down to her plate.

“What?”

Small doses in the future, he decided. 

“We can talk about it later.” 

“I want to talk about it now.”

“Too bad.” His smile was taunting. “Are you planning on fleeing?”

She glared at his refusal, defying eyes as ever. He shook his head lightly to indicate that she couldn’t coerce him with that stare. At last, she turned her attention to the food.

“What’s the point if you’ll find me? Besides, I have cases open. I’m not going to abandon my clients when I’m the best chance they’ve got at winning in court.” 

The detached manner in which she spoke made him narrow his eyes. She wasn’t lying, he knew that much but humans fled, they always did. Their survival instinct was too strong not to. Count Dracula swirled his tongue inside his mouth, trying to perceive an explanation to her reaction. He got what she called her “courtroom face” but he wasn’t satisfied by it. 

“You won’t run away?”

“Now it seems that you want me to. Should I go upstairs and pack a suitcase?”

“Try doing that and you won’t make more than two steps.”

“See,” she stated as she pointed her fork at him. “That’s why there is no point in running. You’ve given me my fate and while I would very much like to dispute it, I know when it’s a losing cause.”

“You disappoint me, dear,” he muttered.

“I said it was a losing cause, not a lost one,” she said, having another bite as a smile grew on her lips. “I’ll make you a deal.”

The Count grinned and leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table. In his experience, it didn't matter how shrewd the deal proposed was, holes were bound to be there. And a deal coming from a lawyer should be exciting.

“Go on.”

“You’ll give me time to conclude my pending cases and in the meantime I won’t take new ones. I assume I won’t be able to practise law after I’m a vampire and I don’t want to leave loose ends behind.”

“Done.” 

**_“I’m_ ** not done. I want to listen and learn from you. Convince me immortality is worth it from your years of experience and I’ll consent to you drinking my blood. Until then, you keep your fangs to yourself.” She paused to give him a moment to protest but he remained quiet. “You’ll only turn me when I tell you to. I die on my terms.” 

She set her cutlery down, placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. 

“And if I can’t convince you that immortality is worth it?” He asked her.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“ ** _When?_** " He chuckled. "Isn’t it arrogant to think you’ve won already?”

“I wouldn’t be a good lawyer if I wasn’t a little arrogant.” She gave him a cheeky smile. “Have we got a deal?”

Her self-assuredness was back, squaring her shoulders and making her eyes gleam. In spite of his suspicion over the deal, it made him grin. 

Jack Seward’s stolen phone rang and the Count retrieved it from his pocket to see Lucy’s face lighting up the screen. He spared Y/N a glance and caught the look of confusion on her face upon noticing that that was clearly not the phone she’d given him. 

Dracula ignored the call and not one second later he received a text from Lucy. 

> **R u skipping dinner 2nite?**

Therein lied the difference between Y/N and her. Lucy did not care about anything at all except the unfathomable desire to destroy herself by any means possible. She was in love with death long before they met. Count Dracula hadn’t fully grasped Y/N intentions with that deal but he knew it had nothing to do with a desire to die. She had a practical sense to go about life, he’d noticed it when she expressed that it didn’t matter whether she was afraid to die or not. A deal was a testament to that. 

“I’m afraid I must go,” he said as he typed a message for Lucy. 

He stood up and put away his phone. Y/N tipped her head back to look at him expectantly.

“Are you declining the deal?”

“No.” He stopped next to her. “I thought we could seal it with a kiss.”

She had a second to widen her eyes before he bent down and claimed her lips. A warm hand rested on his cheek instead of pushing him away and she opened her mouth to greet him access, even if for a second. She drew back breathlessly and gazed into his eyes.

“Done,” she said softly.

And then he was gone in a blur.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen... I wrote this chapter this past week and I must say I'm not happy with it. My brain is mush due to work so that's all I could come up with. I wish I could've done better but I know if I delayed posting it I would never do it. Feedback would be greatly appreaciated on this one (good or bad).

* * *

“Oh my _**fucking** _ God.”

My day had started out fine. I had woken up in a surprisingly good mood considering it was Monday and then I ruined it. 

With the exception of Count Dracula’s visit to my house, my weekend was pretty uneventful. Sunday was spent grocery shopping with Diana and reviewing cases to prepare myself for court sessions during the following week. Occupying myself with work was not only necessary but also served as a good distraction from the deal I had struck with the Count. 

Being arrogant had its advantages in my line of work but after proposing a deal to a vampire, I was starting to think how quickly that arrogance could turn into vanity and plain stupidity. A deal from which I had yet to glimpse a way out of? Could I outsmart a centuries old vampire and wiggle out of that deal? On Saturday night I was pretty sure I could. Now… Not so much.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered, receiving ugly looks from people on the tube. 

My hand covered my mouth so I would stop cursing and to stop it from falling open.

Reconnaissance was part of any good lawyer’s job and that was what I had decided to do as my first course of action against Count Dracula. As soon as I had found a good spot to sit in the tube, I googled him by his title. All of the pages included the interesting moniker Vlad the Impaler followed by his actual name Vlad Dracula. That in itself was enough for a chill to run down my spine but each line I read managed to make it worse. 

He was born in the Middle Ages, more precisely in 1431, which put him somewhere over five hundred years old. So, I had made a deal with someone overly experienced in the matters of life, which wasn’t ideal but could be remedied. But then I was met with medieval drawings depicting him dining amongst a field of impaled people. One particular page had supposed accounts from Ottomans and Saxons describing the atrocities committed by him. Boiling people alive, nailing hats to people’s skulls so they wouldn’t take it off, setting beggars and thieves on fire to “cleanse” Wallachia were just some of his various lovely bedtime stories. Those tales had elicited my first string of curses, which yes evoked the name of God in a blasphemous way but at that point I didn’t care if I offended a higher power or not.

Not only was he abhorrently vile, he was smart. Smart enough to send people infected with the plague to infiltrate enemy camps, using them as biological warfare and weakening enemy numbers. Not many people would have thought of such a tactic in the Middle Ages. Apparently the sight of the impaled people put on display around the city Targoviste was so repulsive that the Ottoman Empire simply retreated. And albeit having half or sometimes a quarter of the army of his opponents, he still managed to win several battles because of his cunning. 

That was the part that made me curse several times as some sort of mantra. A ruthless and smart ruler that had been a monster long before he became a vampire, that was who I was up against. And he had five hundred years of practice under his belt. How nice for me. 

My body took control as my mind raced and I got off at Canary Wharf station, making my way to the overly modern glass plated building where I worked.

The Middle Ages were a long time ago and it was a notoriously dark and violent time. Desperate times call for desperate measures, one could say. It should serve as a logical explanation to make myself feel better but the cold sweat on the palms of my hands was an obvious sign that it wasn’t working. I resorted to my earbuds and played one of my favourite songs to try calm myself but I was barely paying any attention to it. The noise inside my head was far louder.

I willed my brain to catch up with my body once the elevator doors opened to the 17th floor. _Work, now_ , I told myself. I could think about how to escape the Count’s grip later. 

Greeting my colleagues, I made my way to my desk at the far left of the office. We occupied half of the 17th floor while the other half was made up of a café and a small finance firm. Smelling croissants and fresh coffee, I placed my purse and briefcase on my chair and was already making a b-line for the café when Renfield peeked his head out of a meeting room and waved for me to join him. 

I threw my earbuds over my shoulders so the string could hang from around my neck and stuck my phone on my trousers' back pocket. Renfield promptly closed the door as soon as I stepped inside. He splayed his arms over the doorway, blocking it. Eyes with dilated pupils watched me from behind thick glasses. Frowning, I looked out through the blurred glass walls that outlined the meeting room we were standing on. If he was about to reprehend me for something I’d done then at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of the whole office witnessing it. 

Renfield had always been composed and taken great pride in his work and looks. For the past few days that stopped being true. Not only was he acting in a disturbing manner, he also appeared unwashed. His hair was greasy and a few strands stuck to his forehead. His suit had a stain on a lapel and he didn’t have a colourful handkerchief peeking out of his front pocket as he usually did. Overworked, I guessed, but never in all the years I knew him had I seen him this way. When I joined the firm as his intern, he let me write most of his opening and closing statements so I could learn and he would rehearse them on his office as I watched and explain why certain phrases should be changed to provide the necessary punch in court. He taught me the basics and all the clever little tricks one could use to dribble a prosecution. He was in the audience when I worked my first case alone in front of a judge. He was there when I won my first case and he took me out for a beer. And he was there when I lost for the first time and he took me out for whiskey. We still went out to celebrate whenever one of us won a case.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he rasped, barely sounding like himself. “Are the Mast-- the Count’s documents in your possession?”

The Master’s, that’s what he almost said. A little too late I remembered that Renfield was Dracula’s servant and automatically took a step back to put distance between us. The Count had arrived at London a week ago, which could explain my boss’ disheveled appearance. 

“They’re at my desk.”

He nodded and licked his lips in a way that made me think of a lizard. 

“And what did you think of him? Of Count Dracula?”

The lunatic gleam in Renfield’s eyes made my decision before I could think through it very much.

“He’s polite and handsome,” I said in the most neutral tone I could manage. “I’ll get the documents and bring them to you. Excuse me.”

I closed the distance between us with more confidence than I felt. Nudging Renfield’s shoulder to the side so he would make way, I tried to grab the doorknob and then he was on me. He pinned me against a glass wall before I had a chance to push him back and his hand yanked my shirt’s collar down, exposing my neck. 

“Ah! Ah!” he exclaimed loudly. “I knew it!”

I tried to fight him off, terrified of the crazed look on his bulging eyes, but he slammed me back on the glass. It trembled under my weight. 

“ _Why_ … **_you_ **?” Spittle landed on my face as he spoke and I cringed. “Why would he bestow such a gift on you?!”

Understanding dawned on me and for a second I stopped trying to escape. He was infuriated because Count Dracula had bitten me and not him, like some sort of drug addict that had his vice taken away. 

“Let me go,” I said, summoning a calm semblance. “Ask him about it. It’s not like I offered him a drink.”

“No, not a drink. If he wanted just a drink he would have killed you. He’ll make you his bride. But I-- I have worked so hard, so so hard. I deserve it, I do, I do,” he was whimpering now and shaking his head to the sides like a child. 

“I know, I know,” I cooed but I had tears on my eyes. 

His hands wrapped around my neck and squeezed. My eyes instantly bugged out of my head and the tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I struggled. My hands found his face, trying to slap him or scratch him, anything that would get him off of me. I hit the glass wall with the back of my heel repeatedly to try to get someone’s attention outside. Air couldn’t reach my lungs anymore and my windpipe would probably collapse if he pressed harder. The pressure on my head was enormous. I could barely see and my face felt like it would explode at any second.

Several figures burst in the room. Two of them tried to pry Renfield off of me and the other three screamed for him to let me go. The crushing force on my neck ceased all of a sudden and I went down like a sack of potatoes, falling on my side as I gasped for air. 

“Master! Master!” Renfield howled, struggling against his captors. “I was good, I was good! MASTER!”

A hacking cough seized me as I tried to will air into my lungs but failed to do so in the speed I needed. Slowly my vision returned and I saw Henry and Mallory kneeling next to me, trying to get me to sit up. Renfield’s deafening screams filled my ears. 

“What happened?!” Mallory asked as Matthew, another colleague of mine, and a security guard tried to pin Renfield to the ground as he continued shouting.

“Not h-his fault,” I croaked, covering my neck with my hand. I would have a new bruise to match my bite now. 

Mallory and Henry started talking about what they should do while I found myself trapped in Renfield’s demented eyes. He wasn’t in there, not anymore. 

“A psychotic episode,” I whispered to Mallory. It hurt to talk. “Call medics, not the police. It’s not his fault.” Mallory and Henry exchanged a look and nodded. 

More people filed into the room to gawk at the scene. Several more people gathered around me, trying to be helpful to the point where they started to resemble vultures and not good samaritans. I allowed myself to be coddled by these people while my mind ran amok. 

My chest tightened as if the sorrow I felt hurt physically as well. The man I had looked up to as an outstanding lawyer, the man I inherited the poise and the commanding voice… was gone. Reduced to the likes of a mewling baby and a deranged man.

I hardly paid attention when paramedics arrived and took Renfield away but when a paramedic wanted to check my neck, I was pulled back to reality by the bond I had to Count Dracula. 

“No,” I told him, one hand securing my shirt’s collar to my neck so it was covered. “I’m fine, really.”

“Miss, please. By what your colleagues described he nearly choked you to death.” His hands hovered on the air around me as a second silent request to let him look at the bruise.

I shook my head vehemently but tears were welling in my eyes again. 

I wanted desperately to tell someone just then. To explain about Renfield and the bite on my neck that marked me as **_his_ ** . But I couldn’t. My voice wouldn’t leave my throat because that too had become **_his_ **. Even if I was able to tell someone, I knew it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Bitten by a vampire? Surely I would be thrown in the psychiatric ward as Renfield would.

“I can’t,” I said weakly before pushing him out of my way and running to the restroom. 

* * *

London’s night lights kept me company as I worked overtime on the firm. After spending the rest of my day warding off preoccupied people, I decided that I would need to add extra hours of work. At home I would succumb to my bed’s embrace and wouldn’t get any work done. 

My desk lamp was the only source of light coming from inside the office and it illuminated the papers spread haphazardly in front of me. I had attended court earlier that day only to request an adjournment to Judge Llewellyn, who scowled and immediately demanded I explain myself. Matthew, my colleague, accompanied me to speak on my behalf since my voice box wasn’t strong enough yet to project my words to a courtroom. When Matthew explained the ordeal to Llewellyn I had the satisfaction of seeing the judge’s face dismantle in embarrassment for questioning me so harshly. It didn’t matter how much satisfaction it brought me because at the end of the day my case was delayed which impacted the life of a very dedicated mother who was disputing custody of her children with her ex. Catching up on cases and preparing future statements was my way of rectifying it.

I scribbled on a post-it and stuck it to a page before putting that pile to the side. I still had three more cases to review, draw up a plea bargain and think of a way to escape Count Dracula. I was procrastinating the latter.

The elevator opened with a _ding_ on the other side of the floor and I raised my head to see who could it be at this time of night. A silhouette stepped out, standing in the darkness for only a moment before the hall’s motion activated lights came on. At once I sunk in my chair.

“Renfield... Where are you?” Count Dracula pitched his velvet voice in a mock song as he strolled in the office. 

My heartbeat shot up in response and I shrunk further, trusting the darkness to conceal me. He swiveled his head directly at me as if my fear had drawn him. The lights from the buildings outside only illuminated half of his face.

“Y/N,” he said. My name on his lips sent a shiver through my body. “Working in the dark, are we?” When no answer came from me, he clicked his tongue. “I can’t seem to get ahold of Renfield but I suppose you’ll do. My assets were supposed to have been released today. The bank said I need-” He had been strolling my way as he talked but he stopped abruptly, whiffing the air. “You’re scared. Of me?”

He resumed his pace slowly, almost dragging his steps. Just then, I truly understood the feeling of being stalked by a predator.

“Why… are you... scared?” 

He quickened his pace suddenly and covered over half the distance between us in seconds. I jumped from my seat and backed up as I searched frantically for a way out. The back of my knees hit a desk and I had to reach my hands back to stop me from toppling over it. I let out a squeak as I tried to regain my footing but it was too late. Dracula towered over me, so close I could smell his cologne. My face was turned away from him so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. I had a feeling that if I did he would devour me whole. 

“Tell me why,” a whisper. His breath smelled like copper. “I will not have you of all people cowering from me.”

“Renfield was committed to a psychiatric ward this morning,” I blurted. 

“Your voice,” he said.

Another squeak escaped my mouth as he grabbed my face and forced me to look at him. I expected to be met with a monstrous face but it was just him. Familiar dark eyes and lush lips. His stare fell from mine to my neck and he furrowed his eyebrows. His bite was well concealed under my shirt but the ligature mark was just beneath my jaw and in plain sight.

“He attacked me,” I provided in my frail voice. “Because you bit me.”

He pulled his lips down. Anger or disapproval, I wasn’t sure. 

“I see,” he muttered.

“Is that what will become of me?” I asked.

“I told you-- I would never make you a servant.”

“No. Will I become a monster like you? Will I be uncaring? Will I enslave people? Kill them, torture them?”

He squished my cheeks between his fingers with every word I spoke. Perhaps provoking him wasn't a smart choice but I wouldn't simply lower my head and accept my fate.

“Only if you wish," he replied.

“You won’t even try denying it?”

“If I did I would be a hypocrite. And you think you are without blame.”

“Me?! How am I to blame for anything?"

He loosened his grip on my face until he finally allowed his hand to rest on the side of my neck. 

“Yes, you. You the lawyer that defends robbers, murderers and rapists. And you know what’s interesting? I haven’t found much guilt about it in your blood. And now you accuse me of such things with disgust in your face? That, my dear, is a hypocrite.”

I swallowed his vitriol and it burned on the way down. Suddenly I didn’t like being provoked as much as I liked doing so. 

“You ruined Frank!” I blinked at using Renfield’s first name. “He went mental today! Never in his life--”

“He’s **_weak_** , always has been but you never saw it. One look. One look was what it took for him to practically kneel before me. You shouldn’t hold people like him in such high standards.”

“Doesn’t bloody matter, he’s my ** _friend!"_** The threat of tears made my voice tremble and I caught hold of myself before they spilled. “I don’t suppose you understand what that means.”

The snarl on his face made me think he would kill me right there. 

“I should kill Renfield for what he did,” he murmured, stare searing into me. “But you wouldn’t like that.”

“Why does it matter what I like, Impaler?”

His brows softened as comprehension crossed his face and his lips parted in a grin.

“That is why you’re afraid, isn’t it? My darling, that was my human life, you have no need to worry.”

“And you’ve been an angel since then?”

“Oh _**never**_.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I was still supporting myself with my hands on the table behind me, slightly tipping backwards so the Count didn’t crawl on top of me. 

Did I see a monster when I looked at him? Quite honestly no, yet I knew I should. He had done horrible things and I only knew about the things history had kept record of. I had learnt over the years that people are complicated. I had never met one person that was fully good or bad. If I had to classify myself, I wouldn’t know. My entire job was one big gray area. I swiveled around the lines of good and bad, never fully committing to any of them because I was paid for it. That wasn’t to say I didn’t have my own moral compass outside of the law. Count Dracula however… I had yet to find out if he had any moral compass at all. 

“Will Renfield get better?” I questioned.

“He might. It’s difficult to predict how my power can affect some individuals, but he will remain my servant, that much I know. And he won’t attack you again, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Let him go.”

“I will not. He's quite good at being a servant.”

Renfield’s shouting replayed on my head.

“Let him go and I’ll let you feed from me whenever you want,” I said, shocking myself with my words. “But know this, I will never be yours.”

“Another deal? Tempting.” He licked his lips and my stomach coiled. “So **_very_** tempting.”

He reached to my waist, digging his fingers in my skin and I held back a gasp. 

“Take the deal,” I urged. 

Excitement grew within me. I preferred to believe that that was due to the possibility of tricking the Count into another deal but the tingling scar on my neck told a different story. I closed my eyes trying to concentrate and take full control of my body but it wasn’t responsive to rational thought. If he took the deal then it meant freedom for Renfield. That’s where my mind should be, not the rush of pleasure I had felt three nights ago when Count Dracula had bitten me. But by God, that’s what I wanted. I wanted to feel it again, feel his teeth sinking into my flesh and the dreamlike daze that followed. 

Dracula’s arm circled me and smashed my body to his in a single motion, causing the gasp I had been holding to escape my lips. His thumb caressed my jawline while his fingers teased the back of my neck. In the little light between us I saw his black eyes swimming in carmine red. My heartbeat quickened lower in me when his tongue snaked out once again to lick his lips. Suddenly his fingers found my scar and massaged it lightly, evoking a moan from me. I rose my hands to hold his shoulders as an attempt to balance myself.

I felt more than heard his laughter. 

“Look at you," he said. As he spoke I caught a flash of long and jagged teeth before it was gone. “‘ _I’ll never be yours_.’ Liar, liar.”

I collected myself and pushed him away when I realised he was mocking me. He didn't move at fist but when I pushed him again he stepped back of his own volition, still laughing. 

“Are you taking the fucking deal or not?”

“No,” he enunciated the word slowly. “I like this game we’re playing and I don’t want it to be over just yet. As powerful as you think you are, you don’t have the power to control me with your blood. I’ve granted you enough as it is.”

“I wasn’t trying-”

“Don’t lie.”

I closed my hands in fists. 

“Fine. Can you at least say you’re sorry?”

“For what?” He raised his eyebrows.

“For Renfield,” I snapped, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Do you want me to lie to make you feel better?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“I wish Renfield hadn’t attacked you,” he said, sticking his hands on his pockets.

“That wasn’t the apology I was looking for.”

“I know.”

Why did I even want an apology? Was I desperate to find some semblance of regret on him? Desperate to find anything remotely good in him to justify my desire for him? I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep the tears away, hating myself for letting him affect me like that. My whole body desired him while I knew I should hate him for what he did to Renfield, for what he was doing to me. It made me feel like his plaything. 

“Can you please leave? I have work to do.” 

He nodded.

“I assume you’ll take over as my lawyer to assort my affairs.”

“Not like I have an option, is it?”

“Quite. I’ll leave you to it. See you Wednesday!" 

He had already turned away, walking back to the elevator when I fully registered what he said.

“What happens on Wednesday?” I rose my voice to get his attention.

"I take you on a date," he answered over his shoulder.

I marched after him and stopped when I realised what I was doing. What could I possibly do or say to threaten a creature like him? I probably bothered him as much as soft wind did.

"I'm not going on a date with you after what happened today."

He slowly turned to face me again, a big grin on his face. A victorious grin. If he was winning, then I was on the losing side - of what, though?

“Oh but you are. Your deal clearly stated that I am to convince you that immortality is worth it. You didn’t express how I should do it. Therefore that end of the deal is mine to fulfill however I wish. ”

I groaned. Had I removed my brain at some point when I made that deal? I was used to being the winner inside courtrooms, and I had stupidly condemned myself by binding a contract between Count Dracula and I. As much as I would like to withdraw it, I didn't think he would be open to the idea. He had made it clear that he would make me a vampire whether I liked it or not. I had no choice but to abide by my own rules until I came up with a way out.

“I’d rather meet you," I said at last. "Where are we going?”

He smiled widely as he walked backwards, facing me.

“I’ll text you on Wednesday. Goodnight, darling.”

“Night, Dracula.”

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm particularly happy with this chapter considering I didn't like the previous one. The nerd in me took the stage when I was writing this and I have a feeling it will keep happening on the next chapters. Sorry not sorry.  
> WARNING: *light* smut (finally)

* * *

“Visitations hours are almost over so I’m afraid you’ve got to be quick,” said the nurse as she opened the doors to the psychiatric ward.

I had only been to the psychiatric ward once many years ago to accompany Renfield on an interview with a potential alibi for one of our clients. I stood in the hallway, fiddling with my purse’s shoulder strap. The nurse, Margaret according to her name tag, turned to see me hesitating and looked at my neck and then back at my face with sympathy. Obviously, it was no secret why Renfield had been committed to the psych ward.

“He’s medicated, love. I doubt he’ll pay much attention to you, don’t worry.”

I nodded and gestured for us to keep walking. While I welcomed her sympathy, it didn’t help. I didn’t want to see a deranged Renfield or one that was so out of touch with the world that he wouldn’t recognise me. But what I wanted shouldn’t matter at that place. I needed to see him, insane or not.

I followed Margaret down the hallway, taking a sharp turn to the left and another one to the right. A large octagonal room spread before us, so big that it could have been a ballroom in another time. Large french windows on every wall allowed the last rays of sunshine in the afternoon to stream in, creating patterns on the linoleum floor. A bad ambient rendition of Call Me by Blondie played softly from speakers, making a patient to my right bob her head out of beat. Her eyes were empty and while she wasn’t in rhythm, she knew all the words to the lyrics. The girl sat across from her - a daughter, I presumed - smiled at the woman, mouthing the words while they held hands. I looked away, suddenly feeling like I was intruding. Two more patients on opposite sides of the room were accompanied by visitors and a third one, the furthest from me, was sitting on an armchair, facing the sun alone. 

“Fifteen minutes,” Margaret said before taking her leave. 

My high heels were loud on the floor as I dawdled my way to the lone man but he didn’t react to them. I sat on the armchair that stood perpendicular to him, refusing to look at him until I had made myself comfortable. Gathering my courage, I rose my eyes. 

He resembled a rag doll as if someone had discarded him in a chair and arranged his limbs as a second thought. His head was pending on his shoulder and his arms were crossed floppily over his stomach, though his legs were firmly planted on the ground. As I watched his posture, his knees shook as if he was trying to move. Eyes flickering back to his face, I found him staring at me. His lips moved but I couldn’t make out his words.

“What?” I asked him.

“It burns,” Renfield said louder.

I frowned and he repeated his words again. He glanced at the window and I looked outside, light shining on my face. 

“The Sun? Is that it?” I inquired. He nodded lightly. “Frank, the Sun isn’t burning you. Look, your skin is fine.” I pointed at his hands. 

“Burns.” He shut his eyes. 

Stubborn as ever, even if he what he claimed wasn’t feasible. I wasn’t the one going through what he was, though. Inhaling deeply,I stood up, grabbed the edges of his armchair and dragged it until he was in the shade with me. 

“Better?” I asked as I sat down again.

“Much. Why-” he gulped “-are you here?”

I smiled faintly. 

“To make sure you are still in condition to come back to work,” I joked and the corners of his lips tugged upward. “I’m drowning in clients, mine and yours. One them is particularly demanding. I’d be glad to be rid of him.”

“You can’t,” he said without a trace of the smile that had been forming on his face.

“I know,” I sighed. “Neither can you.”

“I don’t want to be rid of him.”

“Why?”

“I do not exist without him,” he said very slowly. “I have a purpose now.”

“Frank, you’ve always had a purp-”

“No. Working seven days a week so I will become wealthy isn’t a purpose. It is shallow and it was my entire life, until him.” He fixed his eyes on me and for the first time I saw the hint of insanity in them. “You will understand soon enough.”

He sounded eerily like himself when he spoke, even if his eyes had a different gleam to them, and that was even worse than him being insane. It meant that he truly believed in what he said, with or without Count Dracula and that he expected everyone to feel as dependent as he did.

“When you sent me to him… did you know he would-”

“Make you his bride? No but I had my suspicions. You are you, after all.” He laughed lightly. “The Count enjoys a challenge.”

“Was I a welcome gift to him?”

“Has it occurred to you that maybe he was my gift to you?”

I narrowed my eyes. 

“Have you hated me all these years in secret? What kind of gift is that?”

He laughed.

“My love for you is beaten only by my love for Count Dracula. He is freedom, Y/N. Grandiosity, power… Life itself. I wish him on every person so they will understand it.”

“Do you, really?” Sarcasm weighed my words. “You tried to kill me because he chose me.”

His jaw clenched.

“I have seen the error of my ways, now,” he said, staring at the ground. 

“He’s been here to see you, hasn’t he? To teach you a lesson?”

Dark blue eyes met mine again as he moved carefully on his chair, suddenly assuming a much more dignified posture.

“Did you come here to throw salt in my wounds?” he questioned.

“I came to check on you,” I replied and he raised his eyebrows derisively, like he always did when he thought something had no credibility. “And to ask you about him. Will you answer my questions?” He shrugged and I took that as a yes. “Why is he here? In London?” 

“Does it change anything?”

“I don't think so.”

“I taught you better than to ask dense questions. Next one.”

I sighed. I deserved that.

“How did you come into contact with him? He’s been a client since, well, forever. ”

“He was originally a client of one Jonathan Harker, a solicitor from our firm who traveled to Wallachia to never return,” Renfield laughed. “Harker was attending to all of the Count’s affairs so he could relocate here.”

“In 1896?” I questioned and he nodded. “But he just arrived…”

I trailed off as I tried to piece everything together. The Jonathan Harker Foundation surely had a connection to the solicitor. All I knew about it was what Renfield had told me, that it was an underground research facility. He hadn’t mentioned why Count Dracula had been in their custody and frankly, I hadn’t bothered to ask before I met the Count. 

“Indeed. 120 years late,” he explained. “The master embarked to England in 1896 but the ship sunk and he spent the last century under the sea. When he awoke he contacted a lawyer from the same firm that had serviced him in the past.” He pointed at himself. “Dear, your mouth is open.”

I caught movement from the corner of my eyes and turned to see Margaret, the nurse, politely interrupting a conversation between a visitor and a patient. Visiting hour was over and I had to be quick.

“Are the vampire legends true?” I inquired and continued once he didn’t answer me, “Do they apply to Count Dracula?”

“Now, **_why_ ** would I tell you that?” he narrowed his eyes. “If you’re planning on killing him so you are free, don’t. No matter that he wants you as his bride, he’ll kill you if you try.”

Margaret was coming our way.

“I doubt it,” I said, forcing my voice to sound strong. “Keeping me as his bride at his side would be a greater punishment than death.” I threw my purse over my shoulder and picked up my briefcase. “Bye, Frank.”

I stood up and he grabbed my wrist, softly.

“Will you come by to see me again?” 

It was his voice but the look in his eyes didn’t belong to him. I wouldn’t hold it past him to report everything we had just talked about to Count Dracula. How, I wasn’t sure, but if the Count had come to see him, then Renfield would find a way. If I kept coming to visit Renfield he would eventually let something slip and I could feed him whatever truth I wanted Dracula to believe.

“Sure,” I patted his shoulder and he let me go. 

Margaret smiled at me as I approached her.

“I see you managed to make him talk.”

“We had quite a productive talk, actually.” I returned the smile. “Has a man come to see him? Tall, dark hair, handsome?”

“No, love, you’re the first one who’s come to visit him.”

I nodded and let her lead me out.

In fifteen minutes I gathered more information about the Count than I had in the last few days. If he had come to see Renfield and discipline him, then he managed to do so undetected, which meant he could follow me around without my knowledge if he wished to. Seeing that Renfield was bothered by the sun I’d take it that Dracula was too, so I had at least one of the vampire legends confirmed. I suspected that the boat trip in which Agatha, Dracula’s dear old friend, had died was the very same one that had landed the Count under the sea. Why he stayed there for over a century was still a mystery to me. During my night with him in Camden, the Count mentioned he was widower to many brides and now that Renfield used the title when referring to me for the second time I understood just what he meant by that. And the best part, I found a loophole in my bond to him. Not once while I talked to Renfield about Dracula did my body try to shut me up. It wasn’t much but it was enough to give me hope.

My phone chirping pulled me from thoughts and I reached inside my purse to read the text I had just received. First an address and then a text by Count Dracula.

> **It’s Wednesday. I hope you haven’t forgotten about our date. Meet me at this address at 9pm.**

* * *

“Here we are, miss,” said the cabbie. 

“The museum?” I asked, looking outside as he stopped the car. The Victoria and Albert Museum stood on the other side of the street, spread imposingly on an entire block while ocean blue lights illuminated it from beneath. “But it’s closed.”

“It’s the address you gave me,” the cabbie said in an annoyed tone.

“Yeah but- nevermind,” I sighed as I fished twenty pounds out of my purse and handed it to him. “Thank you.”

“Night.”

I left the car, being careful to hold on to the edges of my dress so I wouldn’t flash my underwear to a passerby. Wind immediately whipped my ponytail up but I took hold of it to avoid ruining my hair. Although I was wearing a dress, I had a trench coat over top of it to protect me from London’s harsh weather. Walking aimlessly, I grabbed my phone and dialed Count Dracula. He picked up after three rings.

“I’m here. Where-”

“Behind you.”

I almost dropped my phone as I pivoted. 

“Fucking hell. Don’t do that,” I warned, I smacked my forehead with my free hand, laughing nervously. 

“You’re not in your work clothes,” he said as he covered some of the distance between us, completely ignoring the fact that he almost scared me to death. “You got ready for me?” 

“No. Yes,” I scoffed. “It’s a date, isn’t it? I’m dressed accordingly."

“Red suits you,” he commented as his eyes traveled over me. 

“Thanks,” I smoothed my dress absently. “You look nice, as well.”

Was this how Red Riding Hood felt when she was complimenting her grandmother just before she found out it was a wolf all along?

He wasn’t dressed much differently than his usual attire. Black always seemed to be his colour of choice and he looked fantastic in it. This time he had replaced his usual black blazer with a well fitted long coat. As I evaluated him, he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet which made his coat open lightly and gave me a peek of the rest of his outfit. The black button-up shirt was slightly undone -- the two top buttons, only -- but it was enough to showcase a bit of chest hair and arouse my curiosity. I averted my eyes when he caught me ogling him.

Nope. No curiosity here. None at all. _Llewellyn, please be my brain._

Dracula grinned, probably satisfied that he managed to have some effect on me. 

“Shall we?” He offered me his arm.

“Where to?” I asked, accepting his arm automatically. 

“There.” He pointed.

My mouth opened and closed to which he chuckled. I let him drag me along with him as we crossed the road. As we approached the entrance to the Victoria and Albert Museum, I managed to find my voice.

“But it’s closed,” I repeated for the second time that night. 

“Not for us. No, not that way.” He pulled me back by my arm when I started going up the steps. “Come, I have someone waiting for us.”

“What, did you hypnotise someone in order to grant us entrance?” I turned to him as we walked so I could catch his expression.

He smiled and glanced at me.

“Oh, no. Much more mundane than that.” He lifted his free hand and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together in the universal sign for money.

“Bribery? Lovely. Lucky that I’m not a prosecutor, otherwise I would have serious trouble agreeing to a date like this.”

“Questionable morals are better than no morals at all.”

“Says you,” I shot back. 

He laughed at that. 

As we walked, I noticed that only my heels clicked. He was completely silent, almost as if he was gliding just above the ground. Even with him at my side I couldn’t hear his clothes ruffling. I couldn’t remember if I had heard him made noise on the last times we met. Perhaps the knowledge of what he truly was, vampire and murderer, made him more unnatural on my eyes.

Ahead of us, a man appeared under a lamppost, fidgeting from foot to foot. Taking that he was dressed in a 3-piece tweed suit, he wasn’t a security guard. As we approached him, he shot furtive glances up and down Cromwell Road. He was a small man, so much so that he appeared frail. His snooty face indicated anything but. Probably one of the museum’s curators. Behind him stood a garage gate that led into V&A Museum.

“You’re late,” he complained, barely looking at Count Dracula and I as he retrieved a set of keys from his front pocket. “I can lose my job because of this, you know.”

“Yes, we know. Be quick about it or I won’t pay you the other half as promised.”

The man blew out a breath and turned around to open the gate. The sound of jingly keys striking the metal gate made me cast glances around us. I caught Dracula making a show of doing the same and I dug my fingers on his arm.

“If I get arrested because of this-” I started.

“You won’t. Hurry up, Mr. Lyle.”

Lyle slid the gate open and I sighed in relief. Forgetting about pleasantries, I nudged Lyle aside and squeezed through the small opening, hauling the Count with me. Two cars and a small van were parked on one side of the car lot, which was weird since supposedly the museum would be deserted. An open door to our left allowed a yellow light to illuminate the way. Count Dracula disentangled himself from my grip and gestured for me to go inside as he doubled back to have a word with Lyle. 

I moseyed in through the doorway, fingers over my lips to withhold my gasp. The lights were dim at the center of room while light beams illuminated the contours of sculptures, creating an incredible contrast that made me think of a Caravaggio painting. The ceiling arched above the room in a skylight. Clouds on the sky separated briefly to give me a glimpse of stars. A figure approached me from my right, joining me in the haze. I expected to see Dracula when I turned my head but instead there stood a woman clothed in a white waitress uniform carrying a tray with two champagne glasses and an open bottle. 

“Oh,” I made, automatically extending a hand and taking a glass. A raspberry dance inside the glass as the woman poured champagne. “Thanks,” I said after she served me. A whoosh of wind behind me told me the Count had just closed the door behind him after entering. “He doesn’t drink,” I said when she moved to fill the other glass.

I saw the waitress staring behind me, mouth slightly agape as she looked at my date. He did look especially hot tonight so I didn’t blame her. I sipped my drink as I strolled around the room. 

“You can leave the bottle,” I heard him say. “And bring us the food as well. We won’t be needing you for the rest of the night.”

I stopped before a statue of a man attacking another one with a bone. It stood on a pedestal, adding power to the image created. I hadn’t seen it in years and yet it had the same impact on me. Both men were nude, the one with the bone subjugating the other one by pulling their hair and preparing a blow over his head. The beauty and elegance portrayed during a brutal act of combat always managed to resonate with a part of me I couldn’t put my finger on. 

I looked behind me, searching for Dracula and found him still standing at the door. The waitress was gone. 

“Do you know-” I interrupted myself, happily surprised by the echo my voice created when I raised it “-do you know the story of Samson?”

“Regrettably I was raised christian, so yes,” he replied, walking over to me. His annoyance made me smile. “Is that him?”

“Yes, Samson slaying a philistine,” I pointed at the label glued to the top of the pedestal. I didn’t need to read it to know what was written. “Always found it funny how he possessed such amazing strength, stored in his hair of all places, and all it took to beat him was to fall in love with a woman so deeply that he told her all his secrets. There’s a painting of Samson asleep on Delilah’s lap as a servant boy cuts his hair. It’s in the National Gallery though. But this Samson,” I circled the statue, admiring the details as I had done a thousand times, “here he is powerful, raw. There’s no love in him.” 

Dracula stood on the other side of the statue and we met each other’s eyes in silence. He was just watching me, eyebrows slightly drawn together.

“I came here for the first time when I was a young girl in a school field trip. I fell in love with this place and this statue, in particular. I don’t know why here of all places…” I was rambling now but he seemed willing to listen. “I’ve been to other museums in London but this one is just special. Used to beg my mum to bring me here every weekend but she didn’t seem to get my fascination with this place. I haven’t been here since I graduated from college. Sometimes I skipped school to come here and spent the day wandering the halls, emulating some of the statues when I thought nobody was looking. There’s a room here filled with paintings… I used to sit on a corner there, trying to memorise every detail and then go home and try to find it in everyday life.”

“I know. And you felt empty because you couldn’t.” He started circling the statue towards me.

“Yes…” I frowned. “People aren’t as expressive as art portrays. Most of the time they are just blank canvases. I started to feel like one after awhile.”

“Is that why you’re always so blunt? Because you don’t want to be a blank canvas?” He stopped before me, making me tip my head back to maintain eye contact.

“I-- I don’t know.” I was scowling now. “How do you know? That I felt empty?”

“I tasted it.”

I took a sip of my glass, as if that could help me digest that information.

“This place is one of the dearest things to my heart. You brought me here because you knew I would like it. What else did you find in my blood?”

“Ah but if I tell you, I’ll reveal my future plans for our dates,” he said with a tinge of playfulness in his voice. “You don’t look nearly as pleased as I thought you’d be to be here.”

I looked around me, inhaling deeply as if I could take the whole atmosphere within me. I knew that that the ecstatic, otherworldly feeling would leave me as soon as I stepped out of the museum. I only ever felt it in places like that, places so far removed from reality that everything I felt while there was unique to them. But to be there at night in complete silence, while nobody else perused the halls… It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. And to think I was there because of a deal I had made with a vampire. It didn’t matter that I was there so he could persuade me to accept eternal life. Right in that moment, it didn’t matter that Renfield was on a hospital, it didn’t matter that I had work tomorrow, it didn’t matter that my feet hurt because of my high heels, it didn’t matter that I hated Dracula and felt drawn to him at the same time. All it mattered was that I was there. 

I grinned, suddenly getting it.

“You weren’t just being thoughtful when you chose this place. Is this your first move? Show me the unequaled experience I can have if I give in to you?”

“And here I thought that I was playing our game remarkably well.”

“You are. You get points for this.” I sipped my drink as I kept my eyes fixed on him. His eyes fell on my throat as I drank. I had a simple velvet choker concealing his bite and I could see him regarding it with contempt. “Easy there. Getting points doesn’t mean you won our deal.”

“You torture me.” He licked his lips.

“Yes, it’s very fun.” I batted my eyelashes at him with pretend innocence.

“I should try it on you sometime. See if you find that fun, too,” he lowered his voice as he spoke, leaning closer as he did. 

I swallowed dryly, unsure if I wanted to find out. Staring at the curve of his lips, I was suddenly certain that I did. A rattling of cluttery and metal made me turn my head away from him and I silently thanked the waitress for being gracelessly loud. He was still hovering over me, literally breathing down my neck and I stepped aside. The waitress hauled a cart to where we were standing, a variety of food displayed elegantly. Shrimp cocktails, foie gras on toast, finger sandwiches, zucchini wrapped in prosciutto, and those were the ones I could identify. The opened champagne bottle was lying inside a bucket filled with ice.

“Thank you,” I said, immediately moving to grab a finger sandwich.

The waitress looked between the Count and I, her cheeks blushing. So she saw what she had walked into. Count Dracula moved to my side, a 100 pound note between his fingers extended to her. 

“Here.”

“But that’s way too much.”

“Take it and leave.” A hint of irritation on his voice. He was obviously pissed because she had interrupted us. 

She took the note and hurried out of the room, disappearing through an arch at the left. I chewed my food, barely tasting it when Dracula turned to look at me. I sustained his gaze, thankful my mouth had work to do otherwise I would chew on my lip in nervousness. 

“Oh,” I made after I swallowed. “I almost forgot. I brought you something. Can you hold that?” I offered him my glass.

All traces of anger left his face as he grabbed my glass. He took the champagne bottle and topped off my drink, gazing at me curiously as I scrambled through my purse. He returned my drink as he accepted the book I had extended to him. The curious expression on his face fell away and his brow furrowed slightly as he stared at the book before raising his eyes to mine.

“Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea?”

“Thought you might enjoy the reading considering you’ve been there.”

His thumb flickered through the pages although he kept his gaze on me. 

“Clever. Renfield told you?”

“He’s able to hold a rational conversation, by the way.” I took a big gulp of my glass. “Have you read it? It came out before you took a nap under the sea.”

“No, haven’t had the opportunity,” he said as he narrowed his eyes. “Did you buy this just to spite me?”

“No, it’s from my library. You can return it to me after you finish reading it.” I smiled widely. “We’re even now.”

“How come?”  
  
“Well, you know more about me than I’d like you to, quite unfair this thing about tasting people’s lives in their blood, and I know more about you than you’d like me to. So… Even.” Though I kept my tone light as I spoke his face remained serious. “It wasn’t my intention to make you mad and I’m not threatening you, if that’s what you think. So quit it. Was it peaceful down there?”

He was absolutely unmoving, almost statuesque. I was beginning to think he had completely shut down when he clicked his tongue and straightened his body, elegant all over again.

“It was much like a dream, actually. A hundred years passed but it didn’t feel like it. All I remember this perpetual hum that is unique to underwater. Quite annoying after a while.”

“Annoying…” I repeated and chuckled. Of course he would find it annoying. I gathered that not much could surprise him or captivate his attention after centuries of existence. “C’mon. Get the bottle.” I jammed a shrimp in my mouth as I spoke, kicking off my shoes at the same time. 

“What are you doing?” 

I placed my glass on the edge of Samson’s sculpture and shrugged off my trench coat. Dracula watched me intently and when a shiver ran down my skin I knew it had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. 

“Lose the coat,” I told him after I grabbed my glass again, the raspberry floating on shallow waters, or champagne in this case. “Lose it, c’mon! You can take your shoes off if you want to.”

Finally, he placed the book where my glass had been and removed his coat, throwing it on top of mine and then picking up the champagne bottle.

“What are you doing?” he repeated. While his eyes were puzzled, his lips tugged up.

I bolted, cutting through the room towards the large wood and gold arch that led to the rest of museum. 

“Keep up, Count!” I shouted, my laugh echoing after me. 

My muffled steps hitting the marble floors as I rushed through the museum was the only sound throughout the whole building and it made laugh more. As I ran, the memory of Renfield telling me the Count could kill me just as easily as he could turn me resounded on my head. Either way I would be dead and one of them seemed to be more appealing right then. But I didn’t want to entertain the possibility of actually considering immortality just yet. Count Dracula had given me one gift so far, one that had made me so ridiculously happy that I was running across rooms of art and history like an excited girl. If I wasted that moment by wallowing on my bitterness towards him or what had become of Renfield I was sure I would hate myself forever. 

“Bittersweet,” I whispered to myself as I ran, almost out of breath. “Not bitter.”

Bringing me here after hours certainly had made me warm up to him, while still retaining the knowledge that this date was clear attempt to convince me… or manipulate me. But that was how dating worked in the world. People manipulated, trying to dazzle one another until someone gave in to love. Love wasn’t part of my deal with Dracula, though.

I had passed the fashion section, as well as the sculptures section already which meant I was close. I made a turn and found the room I had been looking for. Splashes of white veined marble and golden yellow on the ground and columns made for an incredible scenery combined with the fresco ceiling. On my left stood a staircase in the same architectural style but in brighter colours than the rest of the room. I was familiar with it yet I still found myself decelerating to take in its beauty. I turned my head to look behind me just in time to see Count Dracula making the same turn I had just made. 

“Nearly there,” I told him, rushing up the staircase and looking behind me to see if he would follow.

“It’s not a good idea to make me chase you,” he warned, taking two steps at a time. 

“Oh, I’m terrified!” I mocked.

Winding down a few more corridors, I finally found my intended destination. The rectangular room was big enough to hold the size of my home over three times. Scarlet walls peeked behind paintings. Some of them were as tall as I, some small enough to fold and put in a pocket for safekeeping and some were as big as an entire wall. And all of them were painfully beautiful, much like all paintings from the Baroque era. 

“What do you think happens when I catch-” he interrupted himself as he entered the room, his jaw slacking “-you.”

“I wouldn’t dare wonder,” I said between ragged breaths, taking the bottle from his hand and serving myself. Amazingly after my marathon the raspberry was still safely inside my glass.

The Count slowly strolled in the room, head turning as he admired the paintings until he finally met my eyes again.

“This is the room you told me about. The one where you would sit and memorise the details.” He stared at me, and I nodded. 

“Did you have a favourite place to be? To contemplate?” I sat on the center of the room to regain my breath, swinging my legs to the side in my best attempt to conceal my underwear. I set the bottle and glass next to my legs and then raised my arms to free my hair of the, now ruined, ponytail. I shook my hair to let it cascade freely.

He tipped his head back, looking at a Vermeer painting at the very top of the wall closest to us. Seeing as he was momentarily distracted by it I took the opportunity to watch him without feeling like I was doing something wrong. He had a strong and sensuous profile at the same time. He had done horrible things, I reminded myself, hoping to feel a hint of rage or repulsion but those emotions were nowhere to be found.

“Not a place. A person, yes,” he replied, still not looking at me.

“Agatha?” I guessed. 

He swiveled his head then, a light smile on his face. 

“Yes. She was fascinating.”

“You killed her, didn’t you?”

His smile faltered and he walked to my side and sat down to my left. 

“I did.”

“Why? You liked her.”

“Well, she did try to kill me first,” he said and I narrowed my eyes at him. 

“Pleading self defense won’t get you absolved with me. What did she do?”

It was his turn to narrow his eyes in slits. 

“For one, she set me on fire. And then she rigged the ship we were in to blow up. I ripped her throat out before it exploded. It was a mercy killing, really.” He blinked softly at me.

“Will you kill me at the slightest annoyance?” I asked, sliding closer to him. However ill-advised it was, perhaps snuggling up to him would grant me answers as to who he was at his core.

“I have no intention of killing you whatsoever.” He took a strand of my hair between his fingers, playing with it, but he kept his gaze on mine.

“Even if I try killing you?” I got so close to him that the question was uttered inches away from his lips. 

“Even if." He threw my hair behind my shoulder, his eyes half lidded. “There is nothing that you can do to stop me from making you mine.” Every word was a whisper, like this conversation was intimate even for the faces inside the paintings around us.

“Why am I enough and Agatha wasn’t?”

“Self-preservation. If I had made her my bride she would continue her crusade on undeath to destroy me. But you, my darling, want me, even though you don’t think so.”

“Delilah wanted Samson, too, and where did that get him?” I whispered.

He scoffed, a grin taking his lips.

“Ah my Delilah,” he said scornfully. “No, you’re Samson. Sweet of you to think you can bring me to my knees-”

“I can.”

Our noses were nearly touching. A familiar thrill of doing something forbidden made my heart run leaps and bounds. 

“Care to show me how?” 

A dangerous game to play with him but I was never a quitter. I opened a large grin for him, one I hoped was as predatory as the ones he gave me. Taking my glass, I slowly gulped down the last of my champagne, keeping an eye on the hungry look that popped on Dracula’s face. After I was done, I reached inside the glass and pulled the raspberry out. 

“Cheers,” I said, smirking as I stuck the fruit on my index finger.

I stood on my knees briefly so I could swing a leg over him. My smirk turned wicked as I settled myself on his lap, delighted about the frown on his face, like he was slightly angry that I would tempt him this way. His hands came to rest on my waist as I rose my hand, taking the raspberry carefully inside my mouth and sucking my finger as I withdrew it, all the while maintaining my gaze on his. His dark eyes seemed to become even darker as he watched me. Still not satisfied, I rolled my hips on his lap until I felt a growing bulge between my legs and he let out a moan. 

“Admit it,” I breathed, struggling to keep my composure as I kept moving. “I can bring you to your knees if I want to.”

His adam’s apple moved as he swallowed and then smiled.

“No, my darling. All you managed to do is tease me,” he muttered. 

One second I was sitting on top of him and the next I was trapped between him and the hardwood floor. I gazed up at his eyes, unsure if I should fight him off or not. He had my wrists on his grasp, successfully pinning me down as he ground his hips on mine until a moan left my lips. He dipped his head, making me think he was about to kiss me but then he changed directions at the last second. He started planting soft kisses on my collarbone, veering dangerously close to my neck. 

“You made your- oh,” I was saying and then he moved his hips again, rubbing against the exact right spot. My legs wrapped around him like they had a mind of its own, causing him to grind against me another time. “Okay, you made your point.”

He lifted his head to look at me and I caught a glimpse of red in his eyes before it faded. A sudden touch of wistfulness made me frown. My scar tingled and I instantly knew where the wistfulness came from. It was stupid of me to think I could actually win that game when I had my bond to him working against me. But now that I reflected upon it, what drove me to do what I had just done was just me - the rational part of me. Somehow it was worse that I had done that in my right mind.

“But that was only the opening statement,” said he, smiling deviously at his own pun.

“I should go. I have to be at court at 8am and it’s getting late.”

Cogs turned behind his eyes as he processed what I said, a crease forming between his eyebrows. I nodded at him once as an incentive for him to let me go. 

“Don’t let it get to you,” he said, releasing my wrists and lifting some of his weight off of me.

“What?”

“Desire isn’t logical. You may think you have it under control but the leash only stretches so far before it breaks. You can’t control everything, Y/N,” he said. 

“I can try,” I untangled myself from him, almost shoving him aside and stood up so swiftly that I became dizzy. I pulled down my dress, my cheeks suddenly burning. I looked at Count Dracula, now sitting on the floor with an elbow resting on a propped knee. “I’ll show myself out. Don’t forget the book, I think you’ll like it.” I blew out a breath. “Thank you for tonight. This was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” I felt a lump on my throat as I spoke and I forcibly swallowed it down. 

How did it get to the point where the person that I hated the most was also the one that was the sweetest to me?

Dracula knitted his eyebrows as he gazed at me. 

“You’re welcome.”

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

“Renfield,” Count Dracula called. “Wake up.”

The man stirred in his bed, a string of drool escaping his mouth as he changed positions. Count Dracula looked around the room impatiently. When he first came to talk to Renfield, the man had been placed in a padded cell. It seemed now that he had been behaving nicely enough to be transferred to an ordinary room with a bed, a desk and a fenced window. Dracula sat down at the end of the bed and grabbed the man’s ankle. 

“Master!” Renfield shot up awake at once, folding himself up until he was hugging his knees. He laughed nervously, eyes darting around the room. “I-I didn’t call Y/N, I promise you. She came to see me, she did, yes, it was her. Please--”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Renfield drew his eyebrows up and released his own legs. The striped pyjama he had on was too short for him, making him look more like an overgrown child in the Count’s eyes.

“It--it isn’t?” he stammered. 

“I need your opinion on something.”

“Well, of course,” Renfield said, a cheery smile sprouting in his face. “How can I be of service, master?”

Dracula patted the man’s shin the same way someone would do to a dog. 

“Y/N…” he trailed off as the image of her sucking on her own finger popped in his mind. He blinked, trying to clear it off, and stood up. “She…”

A deep frown settled in his face as he paced around the room. 

“She what, sir?” 

Dracula shut his eyes, leaning his head back in concentration.

“She mystifies me,” he spoke in a low voice, more to himself.

“Well--” Renfield started, chuckling nervously again. “How could she possibly mystify you, master? You’ve drank her blood. There are no secrets--”

“Ah, but there are. There must be,” Count Dracula ran his hands through his hair, his mind remained fixated on her face close to his as she teased him endlessly. “She has a power of her own but I haven’t been able to identify what it is yet. She can incite me.”

“Yes,” Renfield drew out slowly. “Y/N has a way of getting into people’s heads.”

Dracula rushed forward, leveling his face with Renfield’s and making the man cringe from him.

“How?” he demanded. “How does she do it?”

“I d-didn’t mean l-literally, master. She knows how to twist words, that’s all I meant.”

“Oh,” he moved away and started pacing again. “It’s more than that, though… Tonight at the museum--”

“Which museum? V&A?”

“Her favourite,” Dracula nodded impatiently. No wonder Renfield would know about her fascination with that particular museum. “The rapture on her face when she walked in,” he smiled, “I thought I had her.”

“She turned the tables on you, didn’t she?” the knowing tone in Renfield’s voice grabbed the Count’s attention. 

“For more than a few seconds, yes,” he exhaled a breath he had no need to hold. “Made me chase her through the museum and fully took control of the situation. I only realised what she’d done after she left.”

“She’s seducing you, master, in your own game of cat and mouse.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that, Renfield,” Dracula snapped. “I am in control, always, but she bewitched me. She must have.”

He wasn't sure if she was Samson or Delilah anymore.

“Earlier today she came to visit me and asked me about how vampire legends might apply to you,” Renfield shook his head and rose his hands to add to the veracity of his words. “I revealed nothing, my lord.”

Dracula narrowed his eyes, pulling his lips down.. 

“Did she, now?”

Renfield nodded solemnly. 

The Count rolled his head on his shoulders. Who was she? _What_ was she to affect him like that? The memories in her blood told nothing of that. He knew she was too headstrong to propose a deal of that nature to him. Now he was finally understanding where her intentions lied. Delilah, indeed.

“Thank you, Renfield. You’ve been quite helpful. I must go pay her a visit.”

* * *

Her shower turned off moments after he arrived at her house. It distracted Count Dracula from Lucy’s text message, begging him for another bite. Lucy was addicted enough now that she didn’t care that he had drank from her only a few days ago. While tilting her head back and sinking his teeth in her certainly appealed to the bloodthirsty monster in him, he was curiously more interested in watching Y/N. 

Dracula clicked a button on the mobile’s side and the screen turned off. He slid the device on one of his coat’s deep pockets, feeling the outline of the book Y/N had lent him earlier that night. He retrieved it to look at the bright colours on the cover depicting a giant squid wrapped around a submarine. The memories on her blood weren’t needed for him to know that she loved this book. The pages were yellowed and a bit tattered, much like the cover’s edges, and it smelled like her, albeit one from long long ago. She must have read it dozens of times and yet he couldn’t find anything definitive about the book’s story in her blood. All he could gather were the character’s names, nothing more.

The bathroom’s door opened, deviating his attention from the book. He couldn’t see into her bedroom from where he was sat. Dracula stood up, balancing himself easily on the roof’s edge from the neighbouring house and made his way to a spot where he could get a better view. Beneath him, squared neatly between her house and Diana’s stood the back yard. It was spacious enough to contain a fountain, an old fashioned metal swing and a small vegetable garden. He stopped walking as she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and he knelt on his ankles as to not draw attention. 

Blood rushed hot through her veins, the sound of it nearly as erotic as her seminude body. Teeth elongated inside his mouth, their sharp edges poking at his lips and forcing him to part his mouth. She drew thin curtains, allowing only her silhouette to be seen. Book still in hand, Dracula lept down to the garden to keep her in his sight, landing soundlessly on the grass. 

He waited. 

“Look at me,” he said in the dead of night.

He wanted her to see the red of his gaze. Watch the terror on her face as she realised that the game was over and that she couldn’t beat him. With every drop of her blood, he would make her his.

Glass shattered to his left and Dracula swung his head to see a woman standing in the doorway. He cursed his impulses silently. It wasn’t often that he let himself get so carried away that he failed to pay attention to his surroundings. A cat slipped between the woman’s legs, hopping over the puddle of water and shards, and made a run for the hedges at the back of the property. Wind swept the woman’s silver and pepper away from her face, her hand frozen in front of her body as if she was still holding the glass. 

“Hello, Diana.”

* * *

I woke up with the sound of water. A quick look at the time on my phone made me hop out of bed instantly.

“Shit, I’m late!”

No more dates with a vampire midweek. 

I peeked behind the curtains to check on the weather and to determine what should I wear for the day. Dark and heavy clouds covered the sky which meant I would have to whip out some boots for the storm on the way. A shape on the garden attracted my attention. Diana was standing in the middle of it, staring into nothing as she held a garden hose. A patch of earth beneath my window was soaked with water, like she had been watering that spot for more than a few minutes. I knocked on the window to get her attention but she didn’t react to it. I furrowed my eyebrows. There was no reason for her to water the garden when there was a storm coming. She hardly ever used that hose.

“Di?” I called after opening my window.

She blinked several times and looked up with a weak smile.

“Morning, Y/N.”

“Aren’t you going to work?”

“I’m not feeling very well today so I called in sick.”

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked and she shook her head. “Right. You might consider changing spots or we’re going get a swimming pool there.”

“Oh.” She looked at the wet spot she had been watering and redirected the stream of water to another side of the garden. “I got distracted.”

Satisfied now that I had managed to shake her out of her stupor, I closed my window and hurried to get ready. As I brushed my teeth, I noticed that the bite mark on my neck had a yellow tonality on the skin surrounding the punctures, which were nothing more than scabs now. The only bruising left was from Renfield and it remained a steady shade of purple and blue. I wrapped a wool scarf around my neck to spare people, and myself, from the view. 

A quick look at my phone informed me that it was 7:35am as I flew down the stairs, carrying a pair of boots and a purse. I sat down at the last step of the stairs, fitting each boot on my feet with disregard for the welfare of my toes. Losing a toe would be better than hearing Judge Llewellyn scolding me again for being late. My phone started ringing as I grabbed my briefcase. Cursing under my breath, I opened the front door, trying to balance my purse, briefcase and keys as I answered the phone and stuck it between my cheek and shoulder.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Roger from St Thomas’ Hospital. Can I find a Y/N L/N in this number?”

“This is she,” I replied, stepping out to the street. 

“I’m calling concerning Francis Renfield. You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

I stopped trying to lock my door and shut my eyes, making a silent prayer.

“Is he dead?”

“Dead? No, miss,” he paused and I took a breath. “I’m calling on his behalf. He’s requested for some of his own books. He mentioned that you might be able to get them for him.”

Once I finished locking my door, I hurried down the steps, almost running to the nearby main road.

“Yes, of course. I have a key for his flat. I can-”

“Good. So here’s the list he gave me. Faust by hm huh… Got?--”

“Goethe,” I said impatiently. “I don’t have a pen right now to take note. Take a photo of the list and send it to me. I’ll drop by with the books around 6pm. Thanks, Robert.”

I shook my briefcase wildly to get the attention of a cab on the other side of the road. He braked instantly.

“It’s Roger.”

“Yeah, sorry. Bye!”

* * *

As I went up the lift in St Thomas Hospital, heading for the psych ward, I realised I had successfully gone an entire day without giving Count Dracula much thought. Well. Almost. Now that I had that consideration in mind all I could do was wonder what he had planned for our next date. The prospect of controlling my impulses while near him wasn’t appealing, or dealing with his unbearable charm. Knowing he had no regard for my life didn’t help either. But I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t curious about what he had in store next. 

I closed my hands in fists. It didn’t matter if Renfield wanted to serve him or not. Dracula had taken away his free will and I wouldn’t simply accept that fact and carry on with my life. That had to be more important than my interest in the Count. 

“Do you need help with that?” 

I blinked, suddenly realising that the lift had stopped at my destination. I looked at the woman holding the door open for me and then to the cardboard box brimming with books at my feet.

“If it’s no bother. It isn’t exactly light,” I said.

She nodded once. I pushed the box forward with my feet so we could both take hold of each side. As she reached down, a hospital band slid to her wrist. I frowned as I took note of how pale the woman looked.

“Wait, no,” I began, making the woman look at me. “I shouldn’t bother you with this. You are not-”

“What? Healthy? In the best condition? Doesn’t matter as long as I have strength in this body,” she shot back matter-of-factly. When she smiled I noticed her teeth were slightly bucked. “Being polite won’t stop me from dying. Lead the way.”

She stared at me. 

“Okay,” I conceded, trying to unfurrow my brows. 

We carried the box out of the lift until we reached the nurse’s station beneath a plaque announcing that we were at St Thomas’ psychward. I signaled for us to stop at the station and we put the box down. The hospital band on her wrist had shifted angles and I was able to clearly make out a name as we stood up.

“Van Helsing?” I questioned, unable to conceal my bewilderment.

She glanced at the hospital band and then back at me.

“It’s a Dutch surname,” she explained with a small eye roll as if she was used to that question.

A bandage on the side of her neck drew my attention. What were the odds?

“As in Agatha Van Helsing?” I tried.

“As in Zoe Van Helsing,” she narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that name?”

“I think we might have a friend in common,” I murmured. I fumbled at my scarf, pretending to adjust it so I could grant her a small look on my neck. Risky, but it was the best option for me.

Zoe's eyebrows shot up. Her gaze lingered on my neck after I covered it and I smiled triumphantly. She knew.

“I wouldn’t call him a friend,” she finally said.

“Me neither,” I replied. She smiled back at me, though hesitantly. “Do you have time for a chat?”

She nodded. 

“Let’s do this on my car.”

“Yeah, give me a second.”

I found a post-it inside my purse and scribbled quickly “ _Deliver to Francis Renfield, patient in the psychward. From Y/N L/N._ ” I stuck it to the cover of The Picture of Dorian Gray, the book standing on top of one of the piles, and then gestured for Zoe that we could go. 

I could barely breathe as we took the lift down to the car lot. After analysing Zoe, I wasn’t sure she breathed either. Finding someone else that I could talk to wasn’t the solace I was looking for but it was better than nothing. Taking by Zoe’s words she wasn’t any fonder of Count Dracula than I was. 

We were met with heavy rain once outside the hospital. To our right stood a car lot. Zoe pointed at the largest car in the lot, a black Land Rover parked a few feet from the main entrance. Lowering our heads as a feeble attempt to shield ourselves from the rain, we ran for it. The car beeped twice once we got close to it. I flung open the passenger’s door and threw myself in, followed closely by Zoe on the driver’s side. We closed the doors in unison. Sticking the key in the car’s dashboard, she clicked some buttons next to the steering wheel and hot air started coming from the air system. I ran my hands down my hair, trying to get most of the water out. 

“Count Dracula bit you,” she said simply. I looked at the bandage on her neck. “And me. Although from what I saw from your scar, he wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“No, he wasn’t. Was he trying to kill **_you_ **?”

Zoe turned her body on her seat as she plucked up a corner of the bandage and then threw her brown hair back to offer me a better view. The skin around it was as purple as the strangulation mark beneath my jaw. While the outline of teeth was as clear as day on my neck, her wound was a serrated gash with stitches over it that tried to mend it back. 

“Jesus…” I winced. 

“Yes, well. I suppose he treats his future brides to be much better than he treats his victims.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so shocked. It really isn’t that far of a leap and and by the expression on your face, I’d say I’m right.”

“What’s your connection to Agatha?”

“Distant relative. How do you know about her?”

“He told me.”

“Told you? God, you really must be special,” she said and then frowned. “Did he tell you she was a nun?”

“He killed a nun?” I shook my head and waved a hand to dismiss my last words. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Should expect worse from him, frankly.”

“Yes, you should. I would bet he hasn’t told you every little thing about him. He might not show you his worst side, I think.”

“I’m fairly acquainted with it. It’s why I’m here at the hospital. Dracula made a friend of mine his servant,” I grumbled as I ran a finger on the sore line on my neck. “Renfield didn’t take too kindly-”

“Renfield? The lawyer?”

I blinked.

“Yes. How-” I stopped, piecing it together. It was a leap, much like Zoe had put it, but all things considered, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. “You work for that Foundation, don’t you? The Jonathan Harker Foundation. That’s the only explanation for you knowing both Count Dracula and Renfield. Frank got Dracula out of there. Don’t be so shocked,” I imitated, smiling. “I work with Renfield and sometimes I assist him with his clients. I lucked out.”

“Some luck,” she rose her eyebrows. 

“What stopped him from killing you? Don’t get me wrong but I highly doubt he would just let you go if you had him trapped.”

“I’ve got cancer working on my favour. His appetite doesn’t include that.”

Her skin’s sickly pale shade and her comment at the lift suddenly made sense. Cancer was working **_against_ ** her but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“I wish his appetite didn’t include me,” I scoffed. “But I can’t escape him.”

She shook her head. 

“Not if he’s interested in you. I think the only reason he didn’t murder each and all of us at the Jonathan Harker Foundation is because we weren’t intriguing enough for him,” she paused, creasing her brow. “I don’t want to be invasive but would you mind giving me a few samples?”

“Samples?”

“I’m a doctor. Vampirism is a field that I’m fairly new to and my only test subject is uncooperative. Cancer corrupted most of the scientific evidence on my blood,” she spoke fast, like she was afraid I would leave. “You’re my patient zero.”

I watched her carefully, waiting for a sign; one that told me that she was manipulating me, or waiting for my intuition to tell me something was off, or perhaps for my bond to Count Dracula to finally interfere on his behalf. There was none. Now that I knew who and what she did, I realised how dangerous it was to be sitting in a car with her. Count Dracula had escaped the grasps of the Foundation but not without legal aide, which probably meant Zoe Van Helsing had serious resources to imprison Count Dracula. With a start I realised that she could be my way out of that damned deal I had proposed.

“He’ll definitely kill me if he finds out,” I said with a sigh. “What do you need?”

Zoe grinned, a glint appearing on her tired eyes.

“Blood samples and some tissue from where Dracula bit you, a small piece of scab should do,” she said as she reached in the backseat and pulled an aluminum briefcase. Setting it in her lap, she opened it, casting me a quick glance. “Take off your coat.”

“Oh, we’re doing it now, right.”

I removed my scarf and coat. She made me rest my right elbow on the support pad between us before tying a rubber band above the elbow ditch. Once satisfied, she stuck a needle on me before I could look away, making me emit a small yelp.

“Don’t like having your blood taken?” she chuckled. 

“Not like this,” I responded.

Zoe shot me a look and I grimaced. 

“You liked it when he bit you?” she asked, concentrating now on the vial filling with my blood.

“Can we change the subject?”

“It can help with my research.”

“Are you being serious or just prying?” the question was packed with an anger I hadn’t expected.

“Both,” she shrugged. She changed the full vial for an empty one. When the new one started filling, she stared at me. “Well?”

“Yes. It felt good. More than good, actually. A close second to sex,” I measured how much between my thumb and forefinger on my free hand. Catching the frown and wide eyes in Zoe’s face, I shook my head vigorously. “Not with him. That’s never happening.”

The memory of his body over mine made me shift on my seat. I swallowed dryly.

“Really?”

“Never.”

“I’m not judging you, it’s just that you don’t seem to be so sure.”

“I’m **_sure_**.”

“I’m just the doctor,” while her expression was dead serious, the mischievous glint in her eyes gave her away. “Did it hurt at first?” I nodded. “And then it felt good?” Another nod. “I’ll test for dopamine and endorphins, as well. Those are our own bodies happy drugs. He might have some in his saliva in order to make it feel pleasurable.”

“Has it occurred to you that it might just be magic?” I asked as she changed vials again.

“Magic? Please. Some things pertaining Count Dracula might be magic but consuming blood is not one of them. Much like some snakes have venom to make it easier to eat their prey, I believe he might have an equivalent to that.”

“Well, did it work on you?”

“What?”

“Did you feel euphoric when he bit you?”

“No. I was terrified,” she replied. I raised my eyebrows at her and she shook her head. “Because it worked on you and not on me doesn’t mean it’s magic. Maybe he has some way of controlling the effect his bite has on people. We’re done with the blood samples. Now for the neck.”

She pulled the needle out and put a cotton pad over the tiny hole on my arm. She rose a vial, a marker pen in hand to write on the label. 

“Y/N L/N,” I provided before she asked. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” she chuckled, scribbling my name on all three vials. Next, she grabbed a pair of tweezers and a smaller vial. “Pull your hair back.”

I obeyed and tipped my head for her. There was a bit of pressure on the wound and then a tiny pinch followed by a burning sensation, making me yelp again.

“God, you’re dramatic,” she muttered. 

I snuck a glance at her and caught her smirk.

“Only a little,” I said, returning to my normal posture as she placed a small piece of skin inside the vial. “What kind of cancer is it?”

“Pancreatic. Death sentence, really. Not many people survive it.”

“How long do you have?”

“I don’t know. It’s stage four. I decided against getting chemo the moment I got the diagnosis because I know it’s basically useless in this case. I’m relying solely on palliative care here at St Thomas Hospital,” she shrugged as she organised all the vials inside the briefcase. “Thank you, Y/N. You’re being great help. How many times has he bit you?”

“Only this once. And not enough to turn me, he says. He would’ve done it again, I think, if I had let him.”

“ ** _Let him?_ **”

I smirked at her disbelief.

“Yes, long story but basically I made him a deal where he’ll only bite me or turn me if I allow him.”

She blinked, mouth slightly agape.

“Why would you do that?”

“When I made that deal I thought I was being clever for bargaining when I was actually just bluffing. I won’t be able to stall for much longer, that much I know. I don’t want to be like him,” my voice trembled and I cleared my throat. “I have dates with him set for the future - don’t ask. If I find a way to distract him, have him at the right place at the right time…” I scrutinized her face with every word, “would you be willing to capture him again?”

She stared at me.

“It might get us both killed.”

“I know.”

She closed the briefcase with a definitive sound.

“I’ll do it but, we’ll need time to plan. I spent over 3 months planning how to get him out of the sea without casualties and we still had plenty of them. I’ll handle that part. He has weaknesses, such as the sun, religious items and diseased blood. Try to find something else to our advantage,” she straightened, raising her chin. “You might have to let him bite you.”

“Thought you would suggest that,” I muttered. “He would probably trust me more. But the minute I let him do it, he’ll know about us plotting against him. He can do this thing when he drinks someone’s blood-”

“I forgot about that. Hell.”

“I’ll keep leading him on until we figure it out,” I assured her with way more confidence than I felt. “What’s so interesting about vampirism to you, anyway?”

Zoe placed the briefcase on the backseat again before answering me.

“How does someone’s body not change in over five centuries? Dracula cut his wrist to let me collect his blood and the wound closed itself right before my eyes. It’s isn’t just magic, Y/N. There is a science to it, there must be.”

I stared at her.

“Five centuries without any disease,” I added as I put on my coat again. “That’s it, isn’t it, Zoe? You think his blood holds the answer to your cure.”

Her frown was deep.

“The Foundation isn’t about me. Curing diseases is one its goals, yes, and I won’t lie to you and say I don’t wish I could be rid of this thing eating me away. But it’s not just it. The world would change if we could isolate all the aspects in his blood-” she shook her head. “I can’t tell you more than that.” She pulled out a mobile phone from her jeans’ back pocket. “Give me your number."

I narrowed my eyes at her. Zoe was reticent enough about the Foundation to make me suspicious. A clandestine operation, Renfield had said. But did I really care? 

“Fine,” I said and recited my number. “Calls only.”

“Agreed, less evidence this way,” she put her mobile back on her pocket. “I’ll call you over the next few days so we can set up a meeting. I’ll need more samples so I can follow up on your case’s progression.”

“Sure,” I said, wrapping my scarf around my neck. “I hope this works.”

She nodded, her fringe swaying to the sides as she did so.

“Me, too. Oh, make sure you take a shower and put your clothes on the washer when you get home. He’ll be able to smell me on you if you don’t.”

I grabbed my things and rolled my eyes. 

“‘Bloodhound’ certainly applies well to him, doesn’t it?” I said.

Zoe was still chuckling when I hopped out of the car and ran from the rain.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for all the short scenes. I think it feels 'choppy' but I needed them to be there.  
> Hope you still enjoy this chapter, though! How do we feel about this new acquaintance?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope you do too while reading it.  
> -  
> Side note 1: I reference a few movies here and there. I would advise you skipping one or two paragraphs to avoid spoilers if you still mean to watch it. But, I'm assuming everyone reading this has seen it already.  
> Site note 2: Anne Rice will find a way to sue me if this somehow finds its way to her (it won't, who do I think I am)  
> Side note 3: if you haven't yet, watch every movie and read every book mentioned here. They're all great.

* * *

I had a huge grin on my face as I left the courtroom. My client grabbed my arm and shook it, chuckling. 

“You won!” she squealed. 

“ **_We_ ** won,” I corrected. I stopped walking and faced Mirriam. Her make-up was smudged beneath her watery eyes and her lips were quivering. “I’m happy for you.”

She pulled me into a hug, knocking the breath out of me. Both my hands were occupied, carrying my briefcase and purse so, I had no choice but to stand there, unable to hug her back. Mirriam sobbed, her arms tightening about my neck ever so slightly as she thanked me. Over her shoulder, I saw Judge Llewellyn leave the courtroom, still dressed in his robes. He looked at us, the perpetual crease between his eyebrow softening. Mirriam exclaimed and released me abruptly. The squeals of happy children echoed down the hall and I turned to see Mirriam make a run for the two kids sprinting towards her. 

“Congratulations, Miss L/N,” said Llewellyn. I turned my head to see him standing at my side. “You did well.”

“Can you repeat that, please? I didn’t quite catch it,” I said, grinning from ear to ear. 

His lips tugged up as he glanced away. When he looked at me again his face was serious.

“Don’t try your luck,” he extended a hand toward me. “I’m looking forward to seeing you at practice in my court again.”

Any moment now my cheeks would tear from smiling so much. I let go of my purse, not caring that it almost tipped over, and shook his hand. Although his fingers were long and bony, his handshake was firm.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He nodded and made his way to the opposite direction, presumably towards the judges’ chambers. I watched him go, his robes swaying after him and then turned the other way, taking in Mirriam on her knees, laughing at whatever her children had said. Yeah, I did well. As I picked up my purse, I felt it vibrating. I stuck a hand inside it, searching for my phone as I made my way out of the Royal Courts of Justice.

“Hi, Zoe.”

“Any news?” She asked on the other end. 

“None.”

“It’s been over a week since he took you out. Shouldn’t he have called you?”

“Maybe he’s lost interest,” I countered, frowning at the twinge on my chest. 

Out in the open, I lowered my head to protect myself against the drizzle as I walked.

“That’s absurd. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble of bribing someone--”

“I still regret telling you that.”

“Nevermind who he is, that was impressive.”

An outsider could hear our conversation and think we were complaining about some guy giving me the cold shoulder, not plotting against a five centuries old vampire.

“Zoe, I don’t care why he hasn’t called as long as he leaves me alone. Maybe he met someone else,” as I talked, I managed to make eye contact with a cabbie inside a passing taxi and nodded. “I saw you two days ago. I’ll call if anything changes. When do you want to meet again?”

“Let’s make it Sunday. It’ll be the fourth set of samples and I want to keep the every 2 days pattern we’ve got going on until your bite fully heals.”

The taxi stopped next to me and I juggled all my stuff in order to open the door. I glared at the cabbie, hoping that he would be moved by my anger and help me open the door. I could be Queen Elizabeth and he wouldn’t care. 

“Fine,” I said as I managed to open the car door and get inside. “61 Marney Road,” I told the cabbie and he accelerated. “St Thomas Hospital again?” I asked Zoe.

“Yes. 11am. Call me if Dracula--”

“I know, I know. Bye.” I ended the call before she could keep talking. 

Once I settled my belongings next to me and made myself comfortable, I leaned my head on the window, watching as London’s lights started coming to life in the nearing dusk. Getting complimented by Judge Llewellyn deserved to be celebrated. A good film accompanied by popcorn and lots of chocolate appealed to my body overridden by PMS. Add an hour in a hot bath and then I would have the perfect Friday night. How would Count Dracula spend his Friday night? 

I lowered my shirt’s high collar and touched the scar on my neck. It was nothing more than small scabs now that the bruises were gone but I still wore turtlenecks to conceal the strangulation marks. I hadn’t felt the tingling sensation on it ever since my date with the Count and I wondered if it would react at all to him now that it was almost healed. 

“Miss, you alright?”

I removed my hand from my neck like I had been burned. 

“What?” 

“Are you feeling alright? It sounded like you were out of breath,” he spoke the same way someone would if they were addressing an elderly person.

My entire face went hot and I thanked him silently for not being one those cabbies that always had the rear view mirror turned to the back seats in order to watch the passengers. 

“I have, uh, asthma,” I shut my eyes as I spoke, overcome by embarrassment. “But I’m fine now.”

Had I gone mental? Rubbing my scar to test if it was still reactive to touch in the back of a taxi was just plain stupid, especially considering that I’d gotten so utterly lost in pleasure that I had been panting loud enough for the cabbie to hear me. 

“Tragic, innit?” 

That my bond to Count Dracula paired with PMS had made me become a dog in heat? Yes.

“Sorry, what?”

The cabbie leaned forward and a second later the whispering voices coming from the car speakers raised to an understandable volume. 

“ _Surrey police has no leads so far_ ,” was all I heard from the narrator before a song started playing.

“What happened?”

“Two students were found dead this morning in Surrey University. Bright youngins, can you imagine what they could--”

I straightened on my seat.

“Murders?”

“Makes no sense, how brutal. Police says it appears they were having a movie night--”

“How were they killed?” 

The cabbie took hold of the rear view mirror and angled it at me. I smiled dryly at his frown.

“Professional curiosity,” I told him. “I’m a defense lawyer.”

That answer did nothing to soothe the crease on his large forehead.

“Police isn’t sure yet. But I heard from a pal from Surrey,” he lowered his voice, like he was confiding in me, “that the person that found ‘em threw up and so did a coppa. Looked like a scene straight from The Shining, I bet. Nasty stuff.”

I nodded, relaxing against the window again. Taking he referenced The Shining, that probably meant that there was a lot blood. Dracula wouldn’t waste a drop, I supposed. Odd horrific murders came about once in a while, sadly, and all of them committed by humans. Besides, would he really go all the way to Surrey just to murder a bunch of uni students? London was stacked with several student halls for him to pick from without the trouble of traveling across counties.

“First what happened at that company and then this… This is a bad, bad week. My gran used to say that everything comes in threes. I assure ya, miss, there’s more-”

“Which company? What are you talking about?”

“Ya haven’t heard?” he questioned, glancing at me through the mirror. “Why, miss. Two nights ago the, whaddyacallit, the big corporate cunts in charge of a company- oh, excuse my mouth, miss-”

“The board of directors?”

“Yeah, those blokes. Murdered, the whole lot of ‘em, inside a meeting room!” he started whispering again. 

“Was this here in London?”

“Central London,” he nodded. “Can’t remember the name of the company, now-”

“Like the murders in Surrey? Bloody?”

“Nah, don’t think there’s been news about that. Cameras were dead, caught nothing of it. They were found by security at almost midnight after a wife of one of ‘em called looking for her husband.”

“Cause of death?” I asked and he looked at me. “Just answer the question.”

“Stab wounds to the neck, all of ‘em. Apparently some of them put up a fight because there were broken arms and fingers. Scotland Yard said that it’s prolly more than one murderer, other than that they’ve been quiet about it… They’re **_investigating it_** ,” he made air quotes, “that’s code for _we don’t know shite_.”

He continued ranting for the rest of the trip but I wasn’t listening anymore. I doubted that Netflix would be able to salvage my mood after that conversation.

Once I paid the cabbie, I bid him a nice weekend and jumped out of the taxi. Compared to how he had barely cared about my struggle to get in the taxi, he was nice enough to wait until I got my door opened. Now that the night had come, the automatic light above my front door had turned on and I could only make out the shape of his hand waving at me from inside the car. I waved back as a thanks before going inside. 

I went straight upstairs after I locked the door. With how wired I was, I forgot all about my intentions of taking a bath and took a shower instead. Considering I was humming a tune to myself after thirty minutes under a steady stream of hot water, I was making a quick recovery. I was still singing when I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel about my body. I opened the door, tendrils of steam spilling from my bathroom into my bedroom.

“Ohmygod!”

Count Dracula grinned at me, lying on the middle of my bed with both arms folded beneath his head. I pressed the towel to myself, desperately seeking more cover. 

“I was starting to wonder if you would ever come out of there.”

“I wish I hadn’t!” I exclaimed. “I locked my door! How the hell did you get in?!”

“Window." He pointed one long finger at it.

Deadbolts. I’d have to get deadbolts on every single window in my house.

“Couldn’t you have texted in advance?!”

“I did. You didn’t reply.”

I stared at him, waiting for something else to come out of his mouth. Instead, his gaze slid down my body, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he inhaled sharply. I knew exactly why he was whiffing the air. Thank God my body was flushed from the hot shower, otherwise I would have gone bright red in anger.

“Ugh, leave!” I said, projecting my voice like I was in court. 

I stretched an arm out, pointing at the window. The sudden movement almost caused the towel to open and I immediately took hold of it again with a little squeak. Count Dracula was up at once, circling the bed towards me. I gulped. His gaze pulled me in and for a moment my anger sizzled down.

“I’ve missed you,” he said and a shiver went down my spine.

I stepped back into the bathroom to put some distance between us.

“Too bad, go away.”

A smirk tugged the corner of his lips. 

“You’ve missed me, too.”

“Absolutely did not.”

“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

“It’s called anger.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“‘I’ll go wait downstairs,” he said before turning away from me and slipping out of my bedroom. 

My knees almost gave out when he left and I rushed to sit on the edge of the bed. I held my head as I tried to concentrate and take deep breaths. Had he stayed any longer I wouldn’t put it past me to lock myself in the bathroom and remain there until morning. Not only I had to deal with him, I also could feel cramps coming. I wanted nothing more to curl up in bed with a heat compress and chocolate. Summoning my courage, I got up and went to get dressed. 

As I went down the stairs, Dracula peeked his head out from the living room.

“You’re going out in your nightgown?”

I stopped for a second, frowning and then continued down.

“I’m not going out. I’m tired and uncomfortable and I’m staying home,” I forced a smile, batting my eyelashes just to annoy him. I rounded the staircase, giving my back to him and heading for the kitchen. “I do hope you haven’t wasted your money bribing someone else to grant us entrance to another museum.”

I swiped at the switch and soft lights came on over the kitchen island and at the corners of the room. 

“I haven’t. There’s no problem in postponing tonight’s date.”

I turned around to see him standing on the other side of the island, staring at me.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No.” He smiled. “Like I said, I’ve missed you.”

I leaned down and opened the cabinet under the sink. I pushed a set of pans to the side, looking for my heat pad.

“Been busy for this past week?” I asked, my voice echoing inside the cabinet. 

“Unfortunately.”

I found the heat pad and stood up, closing the cabinet door after me as I put it inside the microwave and set 5 minutes. I turned to face him, propping my hips on the kitchen counter. I pulled on my courtroom face. If Count Dracula squinting at me meant that he saw me do it, then I needed to work more on my tells. 

“Reading Jules Verne or killing a board of directors?”

One of his eyes twitched before he smiled.

“Both. Although I haven’t finished the book yet.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Not finish the book?”

“Dracula-”

“I was bored." He waved his hands on the air, dismissing my hard stare. “Please, I did the world a service! Yes, I went after them on a whim but as soon as I drank from one of them… I killed them on principle.”

“Principle? You’ve got that?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” He put his hands on top of the island and leaned forward, the light above his head creating shadows on his face. “The first one I bit was a child abuser. It was in his blood so, forgive me if killing him offends you. I broke his neck because I didn’t have a stomach for him. The rest of them… were palate cleansers. Although it didn’t do much good. Incredible how many of them had raped women and beat their wives.”

We stared at each other, frozen in place.

All my anger from before vanished and I had to struggle to keep my courtroom face on. In another world, one where there was no law binding me, I would have done the same. Was this the good in him I had been searching, however twisted it was?

The microwave chimed, prompting me to blink and break eye contact.

“I hope you hid at least some of the evidence,” I said, pushing back from the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure how representing a vampire in court for murder would look on my resumé.”

“No need to worry.” He grinned.

I grabbed the heat pad from the microwave, juggling it between my hands to avoid getting burnt until I dropped it to the counter. 

“What about the students in Surrey?”

“Surrey? No, I haven’t been there.” 

I nodded, somewhat relieved. I turned my back on Dracula to conceal my face as I broke the façade. He wasn’t responsible for the murders on Surrey as I suspected but after killing those ‘corporate cunts’, as the cabbie had put so appropriately, he probably went somewhere else to find another palate cleanser. Somebody else was dead because of him but for the life of me I couldn’t find something inside me to care enough. He had indeed done the world a service. 

I rounded the island, past the Count so I could reach the pantry. From there I took popcorn and a bar of chocolate I had hidden, from myself, behind a set of spices. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time I moved and I fought the urge to steal a glance of his face to try figure out what was on his mind. 

“I’m surprised you made an appearance,” I said in the unnerving silence. 

“Are you, really?”

“Yes.” Hugging the popcorn and chocolate to my chest, I moved past him, congratulating myself for not looking at him. “No, actually. I was fairly positive you would come looking for me again, much to my dismay.” I chuckled. “One would think what happened at the museum would encourage you.”

My back burnt with the weight of his gaze. I started tearing the popcorn package frantically, making as much noise as possible to distract me. It was almost working but after I put the popcorn inside the microwave and closed it, I saw his reflection on the microwave mirrored door, moving towards me. 

“It’s not very nice to sneak up on people,” I said, holding my ground.

He met my eyes through the reflection. 

“I’m not nice.”

He had a reflection. I blinked, turning at once to face him. He was directly behind me, less than an arm’s length.

“You can be.”

“Do you want me to be nice?”

“No. It makes it harder to hate you.”

He smiled. 

“I believed that for a second, really did. Especially when I found out that you had been asking our dear friend Renfield about me.”

I gulped.

“He wasn’t very forthcoming, if that makes you feel better,” I said and he chuckled but when his face grew serious again, I wondered if he forced that laugh. “Is that why you disappeared? Because Renfield gossiped about me to you?”

“Amongst other things,” he acquiesced, stepping back and supporting his body on the island much like I had done on the counter. 

By his evasive answer, there was more to it but if he didn’t want to tell me it was fine. He had his secrets and I had mine.

“What do you know, boys really do gossip as much ladies do.”

He gave me a lopsided smile, one I judged was genuine, unlike his chuckle before. The microwave beeped again and I inhaled the delicious scent of done popcorn. I retrieved the popcorn with the tips of my fingers. I placed it briefly on the counter and then offered the heating pad to Count Dracula.

“Take this for me, will you?” I said and he did. I grabbed a glass of juice for me and then the popcorn and chocolate. “Come on. We’re watching a film.”

Count Dracula followed me into the living room. As I settled myself on the sofa, he gave me the heat pad and then occupied himself with analysing my library. Library was a kind word. It would take up the entire wall behind the telly if the fireplace had not been there. I wouldn’t say it was an impressive collection to a connoisseur but it was **_my_ ** collection and I had love for every single book in it, even the ones I didn’t like very much. Count Dracula had his hands laced behind his back and his head tilted as he admired it. I stopped myself from turning the telly on when I heard him whispering the titles to himself.

“Oh, would you look at **_that_ **?” He stepped forward and reached for the second to last row of books closest to the ceiling. I usually had to climb on the armchair to reach that far up but all he did was extend his arm up and pluck a book from up there. He turned around, showing me the gold cover with white and red lettering between his hands. “A vampire book?”

Of course he would find that. At least I should be thankful he didn’t find Story of O or Venus in Furs. If he had and then decided to flip through the pages, I would be doomed.

“Be very careful with that,” I warned. “It’s first edition and it was a gift. It’s sort of a classic.”

“Really?” he grinned, tipping his head up to the row from where he retrieved it from. “Are all of those classics?”

“Anne Rice might say so but the rest of the world wouldn’t,” I scoffed. He looked at me. “She thinks very highly of herself.”

“We would probably get along wonderfully,” he smirked. “Perhaps I should pay her a visit to give her real inspiration.”

“She’s an old woman now and would die of excitement if you actually visited her,” I laughed. “There’s a film for this one,” I pointed at the book in his hands. There was gleam in his dark eyes. “Do you want to watch it?”

“You’ve seen it already,” he said as he placed the book on the shelf. 

“Yes but I can’t deny myself the irony of watching a vampire film with a real vampire,” I said, grabbing the remote control and turning on the TV. “We’ll watch this one and then you can choose the next one.”

I gazed up at him, waiting for an answer. He traced his tongue inside his lower lip, giving my body all sorts of ideas my brain was not agreeable with. My hand tightened around the remote. Count Dracula took off his blazer and threw it on the armchair beneath the window. I almost asked him if all his shirts were missing buttons because the top ones were undone like the last time I’d seen him but then he started undoing his belt. Popcorn spilled on my lap.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I exclaimed.

“Getting comfortable,” he replied with a frown, like I was ridiculous for asking. He rolled the belt around his fingers and then placed it neatly on top of the fireplace. “Like you are,” he gestured at me.

I was sunken back on the sofa between pillows and cushions, with my feet on the coffee table and popcorn all over my nightie. Technically speaking, I was indeed comfortable, especially because of the heating pad on my lower abdomen relieving menstrual cramps. I was **_less_ ** comfortable with Dracula undressing in front of me while my body was working against me in every way possible.

“Fine,” I said between gritted teeth. My eyes widened as he started moving towards me. “W-wait, no, no, no, you’re sitting over there.”

His smirk widened into a full grin as he sat by my side, letting out an exaggerated breath, he kicked off his shoes and stretched himself in the same position as me. 

“What happened to personal space?”

“I thought we’d gone past that already,” he raised his thick eyebrows. 

I clenched my jaw. His gaze fell on my neck. All he would need to do was lean to sink his teeth in me, if he wanted. His lips parted and I was reminded of their softness when he had kissed me.

“Stop it,” I all but whispered. 

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, eyes fixated on my neck.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” I started picking off popcorn from my lap, hoping that would show him that he wasn’t affecting me. “Let’s just watch the film.”

I endured his stare as I clicked on the remote to bring up Netflix and started searching the catalogue for Interview with the Vampire. He decided to focus on the telly once Louis started talking to Daniel. As the film went on, he laughed with Lestat and cursed at Louis constantly for his sentiment. More than once, Count Dracula was literally at the edge of his seat. He nodded approvingly at Claudia at times and at Lestat’s flare for the dramatics, making his critiques here and there about how Anne Rice had gotten it right or wrong.

“That’s Haydn,” Dracula said, eyes glued to the screen as a corpse-like Lestat played the piano and Louis and Claudia watched in horror.

“Good ear,” I commented. “Not that I’m an expert but it took me a few google searches to find out where this piece was from.”

“Good appetite,” he countered without looking at me, raising his forefinger.

I paused the film and he turned to me with an indignant look on his face.

“You ate Haydn?”

He grimaced.

“Ate is a poor term.”

“You did!” I accused, mouth falling open. “Who else?”

“I didn’t kill Haydn, that would be outrageous. I would have deprived the world of Mozart and Beethoven. I just stole a few sips to understand his genius. Chopin, however, I did kill. He was a prick, and so was Mozart. Bach, too, was unbearable but I didn’t get the chance to off him,” he shrugged. “Paganini was a riot, though. I tried turning him but he was committed already to a long time friend, you could say.”

I stared at him for a long moment. I didn’t know where to start but him saying that about Paganini, very subtly, confirmed people’s suspicion at the time that the man had made a pact with the Devil to have been that good. Finding myself unable to form another coherent thought faced with that, I simply pressed play again.

The film was doing a fantastic job of keeping the Count’s attention and I started relaxing because I didn’t have to be on guard, even if he was laying by my side. That is, until we reached the scene on a theatre where Armand drinks from a woman on stage in front of unsuspecting humans. My heart had begun hammering inside my chest as soon as Louis and Claudia stepped inside the theatre because I knew what was coming. 

Though I kept my eyes on the screen, I was suddenly hyper aware of how close I was to Count Dracula. An entire side of my body touched his, down to where my leg ended. Had I grown that comfortable and not noticed it? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Count Dracula swiveling his head to stare at me. 

“You’re missing the film,” I told him, jamming popcorn in my mouth to keep myself busy.

“Your pulse is more interesting right now,” his words tickled my shoulder. 

I snuck a glance at him. His eyes were still bottomless pools of black. The heat in his eyes was just as worrying if his eyes had been red.

“Don’t,” I warned.

The human girl was on stage now, screaming and begging for mercy. Soft, cold lips touched my shoulder and I swallowed dryly. Another kiss marked his path up. I forgot how to move, caught in the rapture of his touch. I could have at least this. Nevermind that I was being touched by the man who meant to steal my life. My chest heaved as his kisses became sloppier, less sweet. My entire body shuddered in anticipation as a kiss landed on the curve of my neck. 

“I--”

A hand delved into my hair with a demanding tug and I shut up. The popcorn bag crumpled between my hands. Armand was on stage with the woman, hugging her and providing comfort before her death.

“Say it,” his lips brushed my ear.

“I won’t.”

His lips brushed my scar and I released a shaky breath. His mouth descended on my neck and a cry tore out of me upon feeling him sucking on my skin. Another hand laid on my chest, creeping slowly towards the shoulder strap of my nightie. I closed my eyes, letting myself be consumed by pleasure and forgetting every reason why we shouldn’t do this.

“Be mine,” his words were muffled as he continued his assault on my neck.

Sharp teeth grazed my skin. 

This couldn’t happen, not if I wanted to live. The minute he bit me he would know about my plan. I had to summon every ounce of control on my body to resist the sensuous ripple of pleasure coursing my body. I dodged his hands and shot up to my feet. Dracula caught himself on his elbow before he fell between the cushions. His eyes were still every bit as dark as before but his mass of hair was tousled, as mine probably was.

“I think--” I took a breath. “I think you should leave.”

He sat up and I noticed that another button on his shirt had come undone, revealing more of his chest than I had seen before. I didn’t dare look any lower. I almost cried in frustration. My body demanded him despite the fact that giving myself to him meant danger.

“I want to finish watching the film,” he said, gazing up at me as he buttoned his shirt again.

“I’m sure you’ve got Netflix at your place.”

“I do but I don’t have the pleasure of your company there.”

“Dracula--”

“I’ll behave if you do,” he put his legs on the coffee table again but I didn’t fall for it. No way I was looking below his waistline. “ **_Promise_ **.”

Would I make it if I ran upstairs to my room? But what use would it be if he could simply climb through my window? I wasn’t ten years old anymore to run away from my fears, hoping they would disappear if I didn’t acknowledge them. Then again, Dracula wasn’t the monster under my bed. He was more likely to be the one on top of it. Jesus, focus! Mind over matter, come on. Up until that point he was being good company. If he was toying with my self control or not, I wasn’t sure. Besides, I couldn’t push the man away any time he made me nervous. I needed to lead him on until Zoe and I found a breach.

“I’ll hold you to that promise. You stay there,” I pointed a finger at him. “I’ll sit over there.”

Grabbing the remote and the bar of chocolate, I tiptoed my way between the remains of my popcorn and curled myself up on the armchair. I started unpacking the chocolate, doing my best to keep my eyes on the telly. Louis and Claudia were now below the theatre, in Armand’s chambers.

Feeling the Count’s gaze on me, I said, “Are you watching the bloody film or not? Because I think I would rather watch something else now.”

After I started chomping at the chocolate bar like there was no tomorrow, Dracula paid attention to the telly. I managed to breathe normally again once he seemed to be engrossed by the film and made conversation about what was going on, like we had been doing before. He celebrated Louis’ revenge by clapping at him and I laughed at the joy on his face as Lestat popped up from the backseat of Daniel’s car and bit him. I mouthed the words to Sympathy for the Devil as the credits rolled and Dracula stayed with his eyes glued to the screen.

“I must talk to this Anne Rice woman,” he muttered.

I chuckled.

“Leave her alone. She hasn’t completed the series yet and I need to know how much dumber Lestat can get in the next book.”

“He’s not dumb,” Dracula said, frowning at me.

I chuckled again. God, he’d grown attached to him.

“You haven’t read the books yet. You might loathe him as much as you did Louis if you read them.”

He groaned.

“Let’s watch another one.”

“Another vampire film?”

“Yes.”

“Narcissist,” I accused and he smiled. 

After searching through the Netflix catalogue, I found a vampire film that didn’t seem so ridiculous called Byzantium. It seemed like a better alternative than Lost Boys or Fright Night. I could just imagine his outrage at Twilight so I spared him of that, too. Twenty minutes later, however, Dracula was rolling his eyes at the TV and asking for the remote. He chose Silence of the Lambs and I thanked the heavens for it. I wouldn’t be able to sit through another sexy movie with him.

“He’s a great actor,” I commented as Dr Lecter and Clarice talked through the glass prison. 

“How many times have you watched it? You quoted that to me before, word for word of what he just said.”

I shrugged. 

“An unhealthy amount of times,” I admitted. He looked at me. “It won four Oscars, c’mon. It’s fantastic.”

I refused to tell him the reason I loved it so much was because of Hannibal Lecter. The Oscars excuse was better. We didn’t say much after that, that’s how fascinated Dracula was. Afterwards, he chose Crimson Peak, at last, one I hadn’t seen. Resting my head on the armchair and using Dracula’s blazer as a blanket, I closed my eyes for a brief moment when Edith met Thomas. 

Sleep’s warm embrace had me floating and I sighed happily. Something hard and cold pressed at my cheek, making my eyes flutter open. Dracula’s face hovered above mine. I wasn’t floating, if his arms around me and his hard chest on my cheek meant anything. My heart hurt like someone had squeezed it.

“I’m just putting you to bed,” he said in a low voice, sparing me a glance.

I was too tired to argue with him and simply rested my head on his chest again.

“You’re cold,” I complained, holding onto his blazer.

“I’m sorry.” 

The harsh lights of the telly made me squint at it with drowsy eyes. Rachel Weisz was on the screen now and I frowned, trying to remember if she appeared in Crimson Peak. Had he started another movie?

“Did the sleep- huh.” I furrowed my brows and tried again, “did I the movie- no,” I sighed.

Hearing his laugh inside his chest made me smile sleepily. 

“You slept little more than 2 hours,” he replied, maneuvering me out of the living room.

“You understood,” a yawn, “what I said,” I giggled and patted his chest. “Well done.”

He flashed me an amused smile before looking ahead again. I wrapped my arms around him when he started going up the stairs, afraid that I would fall. I tried listening to his heartbeat - something I enjoyed doing to people whenever I had chance - but there was no sound coming from his chest. Oddly, that was just as comforting as not hearing soft thump-thumps. But maybe that was just my sleep-addled brain.

“Tell me what happens in Croms- ah, whatever, in the film.” I frowned, mad at how stupid I sounded when I was sleepy. 

He laughed again.

“A lot.”

I rolled my eyes before surrendering to my heavy eyelids and closing them. 

“Be nice, tell me,” I mumbled.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be nice.”

“Right now, I do.”

He started telling me but the rumble of his voice coming from inside his chest, so close to my ear, made me drift back to sleep again. I woke up when he was laying me down on my bed. The bedside lamp made me squint. He set me in the very middle of the bed and perched next to me. I rolled on my side to face him and fluffed the pillow below my head, hiding my face from the light.

“So Edith and Thomas got married, huh?” I asked.

“You got nothing of what I just told you.”

“Not a word." I shook my head lightly.

He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen on my face and his fingers hovered over me for a moment before caressing my temple.

“You were married,” I blurted. He dropped his hand and frowned. “When you were human. Weren’t you?”

“What does it matter?” He went to get up but I grabbed his wrist.

He glared at my hand.

“It was just a question,” I told him. “Don’t be mad. We bicker all the time, already.” I raised my eyebrows at him. His gaze fell on mine, indecipherable. “We don’t have to talk about her. Forget I said it.”

For a second I thought he would storm off. Dracula looked out the window, staring into the night. I waited for him to say something, waited until sleep started creeping again. My fingers slid down his wrist, resting on the back of his hand. 

“She was nothing like you.”

My eyes fluttered open. He was still staring into the dark. I had to choose my words carefully if I wanted him to keep talking. 

“How was she like?”

“Fragile and fearful of… everything. Deeply religious and foolish, at times. She smiled whenever she looked at me, even when I had done horrible things. In her mind, all that I did was in the name of God. There was this one time when I came from battle and I had blood on my face and armour-" he stopped, shoulders sloping and then stiffening "-she kissed me.”

“She wasn’t that fragile, then.”

He scoffed.

“I suppose not,” he conceded.

“Did you love her?”

“More than I thought I was capable.”

I had a feeling I knew the answer to my next question but asked it anyway.

“What happened to her?”

Finally, he turned his head to look at me. For the first time I saw a semblance of real emotion in his eyes and it broke my heart.

“I happened to her.”

I furrowed my eyebrows and took a breath to ask more but he stood up, his hand grazing mine briefly. I watched as he closed the curtains and then picked up the duvet at the bottom of my bed, unfurling it on top of me. I retrieved his blazer from beneath the covers and handed it to him. When he met my eyes again, his expression was devoid of all emotion. His hand reached behind me and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging us into darkness. I couldn’t make out his face anymore.

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” I whispered but I wasn’t sure if he was still in the room to hear me.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Dracula in this chapter and I apologise for it!  
> I'm trying to progress the story while keeping it entertaining. Still hope you can enjoy it.
> 
> Also, as I was reviewing this I realised not everyone might get a reference I threw in there (you'll know when). If you're curious about what I'm referring to, just watch this clip at the 2:40 mark (do NOT watch it around other people).  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rAzbU8hayfw

* * *

My gaze crossed with his over the table. He took a knight piece between two fingers, hovering in the air in thought. The dull light of a cloudy day streamed in at our right, creating shadows on the chessboard and making the pieces look bigger than they actually were. My eyes flickered to the ticking clock next to the chess board and then back to his. He frowned at my smirk. The knight hung ominously over my remaining bishop and I raised an eyebrow.

“I taught you that,” Renfield complained, pointing his knight at me. “It doesn’t work on me.”

The clock chimed, signaling that his time was over. I gave him a toothy grin as he stared in shock at the sequence of zeros on display. With his clock zeroed, mine started counting down from 3 minutes. 

“Doesn’t it?” I giggled, plucking the white knight from between his limp fingers and placing on the square it had been before. I pushed a black rook forward across the chessboard very slowly, the prospect of victory swelling inside me and making me outright laugh at the defeat on his face. I knocked the knight I’d just placed with my piece, leaving nothing in between his king and my rook. Renfield pressed the bridge of his nose with two fingers and swore as I retrieved the downed piece. “Good luck getting out of this. Check.”

I clicked the button on top of my clock to finish my move. Renfield stiffened, shooting me a cold look.

“When did you get so devious?”

“Don’t be a sore loser. You won all the past matches! This loss will be good for you, you’ll learn humility.”

“Funny,” he said, although he didn’t laugh, shifting his calculating eyes back to the chessboard.

Renfield supported an elbow on the table, fingers resting on his temple, like he was conspiring against a prosecution. I blinked, trying to stop the smile that threatened to overcome my mouth. Were it not for the sterile environment and the annoying ambient music, I could’ve thought we were back at work. My phone buzzed on top of the table, attracting both of our gazes. 

“Is that Count Dracula?” He inquired, gaze focused on the chessboard again, doing an excellent job of sounding uninterested. 

“Of course not, it’s ten in the morning,” I said as I reached for the mobile. “Isn’t he supposed to be in his cof--uh, bed?” I corrected, glancing at the nurse, Margaret, sitting not far from us. She had her head buried in a magazine but every once in a while I would catch her leaning her ear closer.

“He’s got a regular bed, Y/N,” he murmured, rolling his eyes. 

I unlocked my phone.

“I know. It was a j--” 

“Oh, do you?”

“Are you twelve?” I snapped and Renfield giggled, only reinforcing my suspicion. “Time is flying,” I indicated the chessboard and Renfield stopped laughing. I blew out a breath as I read the text that had made my phone buzz. “Since when is Evelyn getting married?”

“She sent the invites ages ago.”

“She did?” I raised my eyebrows, trying to remember if I’d seen it in my pile of mail back at home. “We work in the same office. Couldn’t she have hand delivered it?” He shot me a look. “I see what you mean. She thinks she’s bloody Posh Spice.”

Renfield’s hand stopped mid-air, on his way to move a rook but changed his mind at the last second, tapping his temple again. 

“Who?”

“Oh, you’ll get on my case about Dracula like you’re a schoolgirl but don’t know who Posh Spice is?” 

Nurse Margaret snickered, raising her magazine to conceal her affected grin, only confirming my suspicion that she could hear snippets of our conversation.

“The Beckham girl, of course I know,” Renfield glanced at Margaret, furrowing his brow. “I was very absorbed in my game and wasn’t **_listening_ **,” he uttered the last bit louder, staring directly at the nurse. Her face became as red as a tomato. She skittered up from the couch she’d been sitting on, moving swiftly towards the nurse station on the other side of the room. Once she was out of earshot, Renfield said, “Is Evelyn asking you to RSVP?”

“Do I have to?” I grimaced. “The wedding isn’t even in London. I don’t like her **_and_ ** I have to travel all the way to Berkeley?”

“You know you have to.”

“Maybe I’ll get the flu. An aneurysm, if I’m lucky!”

“Her surname is on our calling card, Y/N.”

“Damn it.”

Renfield just looked at me and I slumped down on my chair. It didn’t matter if I was winning at chess when I was absolutely being defeated in this subject. I couldn’t not go to Evelyn Seymour’s wedding, the only remaining direct descendant of Edward Seymour, one of our firm’s original founders in 1821. Her surname was first in line when talking about the most prestigious law firm in London, followed by Sterling and May. From birth, she had a seat reserved for her at the firm, her birthright if I wanted to get poetic about it. Although her surname didn’t instantly grant her power over the entire business, she treated everyone like it did and that was precisely why I didn’t like her. My arrogance was an easily dispensed front but Evelyn’s owed hers to bad parenting, if I had to guess. 

“I can’t go, obviously. I imagine all the other partners will be there, except me,” Renfield sighed and set the piece he had on his fingers to the side. He leaned forward, peering at me over his spectacles. “It’s only proper that you go to represent me,” he lifted a hand before I could protest. “Yes, you. Y/N, you’re my sole pupil I’ve taken in 30 years at that firm and only because the other partners forced me to,” he scoffed. “I was less than happy with this at the beginning, as you well know, but it’s the one thing I can be proud of in my many years of practise. As I’ve been told by many people, I’m uncaring, rude and outright despicable at times. I struggle to find many redeeming qualities in myself, although you seem to pick them out effortlessly. Somehow, under my tutelage you’ve grown to be a brilliant lawyer and, while all credit can’t be mine, I believe I’ve had a finger at shaping you into the person you’re today, which is infinitely better than me,” he cleared his throat and removed his spectacles, suddenly interested in cleaning its lenses on his shirt. “Regardless of what’s come between us, I will have nobody else representing me at that wretched woman’s wedding. It will serve her well, too, for spurning you for so many years. Let’s not spare her our spite, shall we? Do try and sneak a picture of her face at the wedding party when you sit at the partners’ table. It will do wonders for my recovery.”

I used my ring fingers to tap the inner corners of my eyes, containing the tears that threatened to spill over. 

“Damn you,” I sniveled and laughed.

“Yes, well. I had to say something to convince you to go. Did it work?”

That, that was the Frank Renfield I knew. He had to still be in there, whole. His eyes were just blue, without a trace of otherness behind them as he spoke, and I grappled onto that to remain firm on my quest against Count Dracula, no matter how unlikely the odds against me.

“Of course it bloody worked. Will you try to kill me again if I give you a hug?”

He put his spectacles on, summoning a serious expression although his eyes were still welled up. 

“Let me win this match and I’ll do it. No promises if I lose.”

“Do your best, then,” I smiled, gesturing to the board. 

He averted his gaze to each of our pieces, analysing their positions. I left him to his devices while I typed a text back to Evelyn.

“Do you have a dress in mind?”

“Um,” I made, scrolling the screen up to check when the ceremony began. A twilight wedding should be pretty. It wasn’t the easiest time of day to choose a dress befitting of it, though. Not too fancy and not too simple wasn’t something one usually found in London’s evening wear stores. “I might have to go and get one.”

“Wear purple. It’s Evelyn’s favourite colour and she’ll be wearing white on her wedding day. Imagine her face--”

“Christ, you’re a teenage girl. How have I never noticed it before?”

“I’d been reading celebrity magazines before you brought me my books. They got to me. I’m still not over their effects, it seems,” he shuddered.

I chuckled and sent the text to Evelyn, confirming I would be there.

“Purple it is then. It’s not like she doesn’t deserve it. I’ll see if Diana wants to go with me, I’ll make her wear purple, too.”

I put my phone aside just in time to see Renfield’s next move. 

“I heard that Evelyn’s fiancée is rich but not the most fetching gent. If you really want to send her into fits, take Count Dracula as your plus one. Checkmate.”

My mouth fell open as I watched him replace my king with a pawn. A pawn, of all things. I glanced between the chessboard and Renfield’s conceited grin, trying to find out how on Earth he managed to pull that off. Had I not taken that pawn into account? 

“Sneaky bastard,” I said, stunned. “I wanted a win!”

“Better luck next time, I guess. At least you get a hug as a consolation prize.”

I looked at him, shaking my head.

“I’ll take it but what I’ll not take is Count Dracula to the wedding, no matter how much I want to annoy Evelyn.”

Renfield leaned back on his chair, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. 

“You’re still resisting him?”

“Please, don’t sound surprised,” I frowned. “You know I don’t take well to being underestimated.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t offend you like that,” he gave me a smile which disappeared a second later. “Frankly, I’m more surprised that he hasn’t just taken you for himself,” his voice grew thicker as he spoke.

“He won’t do that unless I give him consent.”

“And you think he won’t break that deal of yours if he grows tired of waiting?” he tilted his head like a bug.

I narrowed my eyes. His eyes had lost the bright shine that I was so used to seeing, especially when we were in court, and acquired a dreary gleam that immediately sent a shiver through me. I could only suppose that my refusal to take Count Dracula as my plus one was what set him off. From now on, I presumed that whatever I told him would be reported to his “master” so I had to choose my words with diligence.

“I’d like to think he respects me enough to keep to our deal.” 

Renfield chortled, a sound so unnatural to him that I almost doubted it came out of his throat.

“I do wonder,” he started between a few more laughs, “how is it that you manage to resist him. I thought it virtually impossible.”

“There’s a disconnect, I think, between mind and body for whatever concerns Count Dracula. My body responds in one way,” my mouth went dry as I thought about his mouth on my neck and I shook my head, “but I’m still quite capable of seeing what he is.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t have to explain it to you, do I? You told me that you have love for him,” I said and he nodded, “if that’s so, you love everything in him, even the worst parts. People love the whole while acknowledging the bad and choose to ignore it. So you know that he’s a manipulative monster who has killed hundreds, perhaps thousands of people simply for the fun of it and--” I interrupted myself before I got carried away by my bitterness.

I shut my eyes, taking a moment to allow the rising wave of emotion to settle. The tightening on my throat told me there was more than bitterness but I wouldn’t trouble myself with exploring what that meant. Not now in front of Renfield. 

“Y/N,” Renfield said my name with such gentleness that my eyes shot open and when I stared at him, I was met with the dark blue eyes I had grown accustomed to. He had leaned forward, an open hand extended to me over the table. I put my hand in his without a second thought. “I understand that it’s hard but do yourself a favour and surrender. Surrender with arms wide open or he’ll hurt you and those around you. Listen to me. He will. He might shower you with what you think is affection and perhaps you’ll find yourself falling for him,” he squeezed my hand in his when I started shaking my head in denial, “but at some point he’ll become impatient if you keep stalling and he’ll do it. There is no way out.”

“I know,” my voice didn’t come out, so I tried again, “I know.”

People were supposed to have choices. And while I didn’t want to be hurt more than I already was, I had to try. I had to be free of Count Dracula. If what Renfield said was true, how could I possibly be with someone who was just as willing to care for me as he was to hurt me? 

My phone rang. Recognising Zoe’s number, I grabbed it and stood up. My hand and Renfield’s were still joined and I used it as leverage to bring him into a hug, forcing him to stand up. He stiffened for a second but then his arms went around me, patting my back awkwardly. His heart beat steadily and I smiled into the hug.

“See you later,” I said as I stepped back, holding tightly to his forearms. “I’ve got to run to lunch with a friend.”

“It’s still early.”

“It’s on the other side of London,” I lied. “You’re doing better. Keep doing whatever it is they have you doing here.”

“Not like I have a choice,” he said.

I almost asked him if he even wanted a choice since he was a willing slave but decided against it by giving him a smile and leaving. 

* * *

“News?” Zoe asked me as she organised vials inside her briefcase.

I rolled down my sleeve and let my hair down now that we were done doing ‘business’. I settled myself on a more comfortable position which wasn’t difficult since Zoe’s car was the epitome of comfort.

“He came by,” I said, putting on my courtroom face. Zoe whipped her head around towards me, frowning. “Out of nowhere. It’s not like I could have told him to hold on and call you.”

“Where did he take you?”

“We stayed in and watched telly.”

“Watched telly? That’s it?” She questioned, closing her briefcase and letting it slide to her feet, near the car’s pedals. I shrugged. “You swear?”

Her disapproving tone reminded me of my mother’s and I scowled.

“I have no reason to lie to you.”

“You have **_every_ ** reason to lie to me. Last time we met, you told me there was a bond between you two. Had I known this in the first place, I would--”

“Would what? Waste a perfectly good opportunity to capture Dracula because of a damned bond that’s not even my fault?” I raised my eyebrows at her and she pressed her lips in a fine line. “I’m not on his side. Or yours, for that matter. I could care less about the importance of your research, Zoe. I haven’t questioned the Jonathan Harker Foundation, have I? It’s shady business but it’s not my business. All I want is to be out of danger.” A tiny part of me questioned where would be the fun in that and I pushed it aside. That had to be the bond making its presence known. “We watched films together. Period.”

I stared at Zoe, waiting for her to chew on that.

There was no need for her to know about what happened halfway through Interview with the Vampire. Or about him carrying me to bed. After my encounter with Renfield, I wanted to forget how lovely it felt, sleeping on the Count’s arms. Dracula hadn’t done that for anyone’s benefit except his. I had to understand that.

“I don’t know if what I’m about to say will make you happy, considering-- nevermind,” Zoe shook her head. “With the samples you’ve been giving me, I’m close to synthesizing a pill that can possibly block his access to a person’s memories.”

“Possibly?”

“We’re still in initial stages of trials but it’s not like we can be certain of anything without the Count in our custody. However, I’m almost sure this pill will definitely work on you since it's being manufactured based on your genetic data.”

“ **_Possibly_ ** and **_almost_ ** won’t keep him from killing me if he is able to read my memories.”

“We’re working on it, Y/N,” Zoe bit out. “One of the side effects, however, is short term memory loss. It only lasts for as long as the pill’s in effect but I’m doing my best to mitigate it.”

“What are the other side effects?”

“Heartburn, headache and mild paranoia, usually specific to loud sounds. So far that’s what we’ve got from our human subjects. None of those symptoms last very long either,” she paused, examining me. “Does Count Dracula trust you?”

“I don’t think he trusts anyone. I think he regards me… differently… than he does other people.”

“Why do you think that?”

I thought about the haunting sorrow I’d seen in Count Dracula’s eyes when he spoke about his late wife and how he immediately shut down after that. I doubted he had told many people about her.

“I just do,” I shrugged. “How long until you can give me this pill?”

“A month, if nothing goes wrong. You’d be willing to use it?”

“Can you get it ready in two weeks?”

“Two weeks! Why?”

I took a deep breath for what I was about to say.

“There’ll be a wedding, up in Berkeley. It’ll be in Berkeley Castle--”

“Huge place.”

“Exactly. I’ll take Count Dracula as my plus one. Everyone will be focused on the party and there’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to capture him--”

“We haven’t planned anything, Y/N,” Zoe interrupted, shaking her head vehemently. “It’s too soon. No, no. Absolutely not. We’ll get killed, not to say about the possible collateral damage with the guests. No.”

“We won’t get many chances like this,” the words stumbled out of my mouth in my hurry to get them out before I regretted this. “Berkeley is our best bet. Dracula will be distracted. I’ll do my very best to guarantee it. I’ll even pull a Sharon Stone if I have to. Just, please.”

“Y/N, no. I told you. It took **_months_ ** of planning until we could move on him and get him out of the sea. This has to be rehearsed. We would need a team of people infiltrated at the wedding, a deep knowledge of the property, not to mention contingencies set in place… It’s too much work for only two weeks.”

“I don’t care!” I slapped my thigh in frustration. “I’ll be hanging on his arm all night. If he senses something is off, I’ll know and we drop the plan. We’ve got to try.”

Zoe frowned at me.

“Why are you suddenly so desperate?”

I straightened on my seat and cleared my throat. 

“He’ll grow bored of me, eventually,” I said, remembering Renfield’s sudden sympathy. “There’s no way we can know when, so I’d like to be rid of him sooner rather than later. If we wait too long I might be having this same conversation with you in a few months except I’ll have fangs on my mouth. Or not at all, in which case I’ll be six feet under.”

If I was to take everything Renfield said into account, it scared me. However, I was more frightened at the idea of losing control over the bond. Losing control over myself. From day one, sordid ideas about Count Dracula drinking my blood had pestered me. Whenever I was around him I found myself captivated by him, almost beyond reasoning. Like I always had an unseen force pushing me towards him and consuming me with nothing except raw craving. Never in my entire life had I felt such forceful desire and it terrified me. The leash, as Count Dracula had put it so well at the museum, could break at any second and I wasn’t ready for it to happen yet.

“Get your phone,” Zoe said at last.

“What for?”

“To see if we can find clear pictures of Berkeley Castle’s grounds and decide on a possible course of action,” Zoe said matter-of-factly as she secured her hair on a ponytail.

The turmoil inside me calmed down, for the most part. 

“So we’re doing it?”

“Only, and **_only if_ ** I can have this pill done by then. If not, I’m calling it off.”

I flashed her a smile as I pulled my phone from my back pocket.

“I’ll take that.”

“Were you serious when you said that about Sharon Stone? About the Basic Instinct thing?” Zoe made a face but there was nothing in her eyes if not amusement. 

“God, no,” I said and she raised an eyebrow. “Last resort thing only, if it comes to that.”

Zoe laughed, shaking her head to the sides at me.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Me, too.”

As our laughter died down, we dove into every website we could find that had pictures of Berkeley Castle. We struck gold when the property’s floor plan and aerial view simply popped up during our Google search. According to Berkeley Castle’s own website, wedding ceremonies usually took place in the Great Hall or outside on the gardens. The reception was almost always hosted inside the castle.

Zoe’s phone ringing momentarily interrupted us. Gaze still focused on my phone’s screen, she answered her own without checking who the caller was.

“Hello?” Zoe stiffened at once, listening to whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying. “Jack. Jack. Jack, calm down, I can’t understand you,” the voice grew loud enough for me to make out the words “friends”, “Foundation” and “suicide”. I remained focused on my phone, scrolling through pictures, like I hadn’t heard anything. “No, I didn’t know. Where are you? Okay, stay there. I’m on my way and then we’ll talk.”

After more reassurances, Zoe ended the call and looked at me.

“Go. We can do this some other time,” I told her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Well, no. No. One of my students at the Foundation,” she gestured to her phone, “needs me. An emergency. I have to go. Now, actually.”

She would’ve made a terrible lawyer. Terrible voice pitch when she lied and with the way she babbled, she would be eaten alive in a courtroom. I would’ve wiped the floor with her. From what I could tell, this was the first time I had caught her in a lie and I wondered why now. I could ascribe it to the dodginess surrounding anything to do with the Foundation but my intuition told me there was more to it. 

Prying would probably result in more lies. 

“Of course,” I said, flashing her a brief smile, “I understand. Call me when you can.”

* * *

My ears buzzed inside the lift as I tried to keep my courtroom face on. I couldn’t wait to get home and sit in silence to cleanse my head from an entire day listening to office gossip.

“I’ve got this lovely dress,” Mallory was saying, “It’s this really beautiful champagne colour--”

“Isn’t that the one you wore to Jamie’s wedding?” Sarah asked.

“You can’t wear a dress you already wore before,” said Chelsea with a sneer.

Mallory furrowed her brows, looking anxious. 

“I remember the dress,” I intervened in Mallory’s defense. “It’s very pretty. You shouldn’t keep it hidden in your wardrobe, Mal. Wear it. I’m sure nobody will be rude enough to ask you about it,” I looked pointedly at Sarah.

“No,” Mallory countered and both women stared at her. “It’s another one. I happen to like the colour, is that a crime?” she asked indignantly. Sarah shrugged. Mallory eyed me, “Do you know what you’re wearing, Y/N?”

I’d gone shopping two days earlier with Diana during my lunch break. She’d pouted when I said I couldn’t take her as my plus one but immediately dropped the act in favour of a smile upon hearing the name Count Dracula come out of my mouth. 

“ **_The_ ** Count? The one that gave you the _hickey_?” she’d whispered the last part during dinner at her house on Sunday.

“The very same,” I’d replied. Little did she know the extent of that hickey.

“Dating royalty, Y/N--”

“Drop it, Di. Will you do me the honours of going dress hunting with me? It must be purple.”

“Purple?”

“Evelyn’s favourite colour.”

“Oh, you’re evil!” She’d laughed. “We’ll find the perfect dress. You’ll look so gorgeous that he’ll faint when he sees you.”

Diana’s excitement over my love affairs had made me wonder if I was so much of a lost cause that any person remotely interested in me should be celebrated with buying an evening dress. On Wednesday, we’d browsed half the stores in Strand before Diana convinced me to hop on the tube towards Belgravia with the promise of gorgeous boutiques in which I would definitely find a dress to my liking. Diana got to flex her marketing muscles to persuade me into getting the one I liked the most, despite the steep price. She’d taken the dress home with her so I wouldn’t have to return to the office with it. 

“L/N?” Mallory touched my shoulder.

“Oh, sorry. I zoned out thinking about all the dresses in my wardrobe,” I blinked at her. “I’m not sure what to wear yet.”

“You should make up your mind quickly, then,” Sarah said in her usual brisk manner. “We’re one week away from Evie’s wedding.”

Evie, right, like they were friends. Of all the women, Mallory was the only one who could call herself Evelyn’s friend and, sadly, between her, Sarah and Chelsea, she was the one I most got along with. Mal and I had started our internships at around the same time and we’d suffered through college together, too. We barely talked now that she’d gotten close to Evelyn. I’d stopped being Y/N to her and became simply L/N.

The lift finally opened and we spilled out. _Freedom!_ I thought, tightening my pace towards the lobby and putting as much distance between me and my colleagues. Through the exit doors, I could see the last rays of sunshine reflecting on the glass plated buildings that seemed to be a requirement at Canary Wharf.

“We’re renting an Airbnb together in Berkeley,” Mallory said, catching up with me. “Me and the girls. It’ll be cheaper that way.”

“Okay…”

“There’s a spare bedroom,” she continued, swiping her baby blonde hair that had fallen on her face in her effort to keep up with me. 

“Oh,” I blinked, stopping abruptly in front of the exit. Mallory nearly tripped over me. “You’re inviting me to stay with you guys?”

“Yeah,” she paused. “I know you aren’t fond of them but you can ignore what they say. It’s what I do half the time I’m with them.”

“Then, why do you spend so much time with them?”

“Trying to climb the ladder, professionally speaking,” she shrugged. “All of you guys were trained by one of the firm’s partners except me. All my efforts go unnoticed because of it.”

“Mal, you could’ve just kept talking to me if that’s what you wanted,” I frowned. “Renfield would--”

“Not a chance. Renfield doesn’t like anybody at the office except you.”

I acquiesced with a shrug. I loved the man but he wasn’t the nicest person to people.

“I’ll think about the Airbnb,” I told Mallory.

Me in a house full of girls when I had a vampire on my heels? Big no. But after years of distance from one of my best friends, I wasn’t going to simply dismiss her because I didn’t like the people she socialised with.

“You still like going to Camden for drinks? Peace offering?”

“Peace offering,” I grinned.

Mallory laced her arm with mine and led the way out. I frowned up at the sky, searching the rays of sun I’d seen moments ago but all I found was cloud upon cloud upon cloud. Hearing the rushing pair of high heels towards us made me cringe and stop on the sidewalk.

“Girls!” Shouted Chelsea. “Did we hear something about drinks?”

“I’ll get rid of them,” Mallory whispered to me in an exasperated tone before putting on a blinding smile and turning to face Chelsea and Sarah.

As Mallory tried to talk them out of it, a sleek black BMW slid to a stop in front of me. I had little more than two seconds to take in the tinted windows, dark enough to make me wonder if they were inside the legal limits, before the passenger's window started going down. The voices behind me quieted as the driver leaned across the seat. He had sunglasses on but I’d recognise that face anywhere. I bent forward, leaning on the car’s door.

“You had to get the flashiest car available, didn’t you?” 

“Oh, dear, no,” Dracula drawled. “The flashiest one was yellow. Black suits me better.”

“Um, Y/N… Who’s that?” Chelsea’s flirty tone made me roll my eyes.

“An impertinent client,” I said without turning to look at her.

“Is that what I am?” 

“Amongst other things that shouldn’t be spoken out loud,” I muttered.

“Your client?” asked Sarah. “L/N, are you breaking the code of ethics?”

“ **_Renfield’s_ ** client,” I corrected, glancing briefly at Sarah. 

When I looked back at Dracula, he was grinning.

“Hello, ladies,” he waved at them, eliciting giggles. If I hadn’t known them for years, I wouldn’t have guessed they were adult women considering their behaviour. “Is that jealousy I see?” he said in a low voice. 

“You wish,” I retorted. In a whisper, I said, “It’s still daylight. Aren’t you going to burst into flames?”

“I might if you don’t get in the car.”

“Tempting. I’ll just stay here.”

“Stay, then. The sun will set in precisely seven minutes and when it does, I’ll get out of this car.”

“And do what?”

“Right now, throwing you over my shoulder seems appropriate.”

My knees quivered at that thought. I had to learn to stop baiting him into conversations like these. At some point, he would carry out his threats and I would probably enjoy it, which wasn’t ideal if I wanted to come out of this breathing.

“Um, Y/N?” Mallory’s voice was a gift sent from heaven to make me look away from the Count. “Do you want to postpone our drinks or--”

“Oh, drinks? Where are we going?” 

“There’s no **_we_ **\--” I glared at him.

He smiled innocently, surprising me that he was actually able to.

“Camden, I hear,” Sarah chimed in.

“Lovely Camden! Why don’t I give you ladies a ride?”

“I’m okay with that,” Sarah said, followed by Chelsea’s nod.

I already had a flimsy hold over my own libido, I wouldn’t attempt trying to control Chelsea’s and Sarah’s too. As much as I didn’t like them, I wouldn’t wish Count Dracula on them. With that in mind, I flung open the BMW’s door and threw myself in. 

“Maybe some other time, girls. He’s mine,” I announced, already regretting my choice of words. Turning to Mallory, I said in an apologetic tone, “Lunch tomorrow so we can catch up?”

She grinned at me, glancing briefly at Count Dracula, who was most definitely staring at the back of my head. 

“Sure,” she affirmed with a wink. “Bye.”

I was still waving at her when Dracula accelerated, leaving his parking spot. I stared out the window without registering where we were headed, waiting. Tension grew until I began feeling smothered. 

“What’s that about me being yours?” 

I shut my eyes and threw my head back against my seat. 

“Just… shut up.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit mean that I ended the chapter there but I didn't have any time left to write. I'll try posting chapter 9 earlier next week (wednesday or thursday, maybe) to make it up to everyone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biggest chapter so far, at 8.916 words! Hopefully it will excuse my failed promise to post earlier!

* * *

In all fairness to him, Count Dracula remained quiet during most of our trip but not without staring at me from time, as though he was waiting for me to cave under his gaze and explain myself for what I had said. 

I glanced at him as he made a turn towards Blackwall Tunnel and smiled when he immediately frowned at the row of cars in front of us. London traffic wasn’t something he was used to, I supposed. Blackwall Tunnel ran underneath the River Thames, towards Greenwich, and I began listing in my head all of our possible destinations since he wasn’t kind enough to tell me where we were headed. After little more than 10 minutes without moving more than a couple of metres, I heard him mutter in another language; curses, by the sound of it. As I drummed my fingers on my knee, I let out a chuckle.

“What's so funny?” 

“You, an immortal being, annoyed because you’ve been sitting in traffic for more than 5 minutes. I thought you would have learnt patience after centuries.”

A hand still on the wheel, Dracula leaned closer. While every instinct told me to meet him halfway, I shrank on my seat to save me the temptation. I met his heated stare with one I hoped was just as intimidating. His lips tugging up told me he didn’t regard me like that at all. 

“I only have patience for some matters.” His hand fell on my knee, overtop my own hand, as to clarify his words.

Thanking myself for choosing trousers earlier that day, I slipped my hand from his. If I had been wearing a skirt, things could have gone very differently. 

“I hope you mean it,” I started, dreading my next words. “Because Renfield says otherwise.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dracula said as he removed his hand and swiveled his head to look in front of us, allowing the car to roll forward. 

I should’ve kept quiet if I wanted to harbour fear against him but I found no space for it inside me. 

“He said you’ll grow tired–”

“And I said not to listen to him, Y/N. He’s jealous.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s wrong, though,” I said. He simply shook his head, so I continued. “At the museum, you said you won’t kill me. Did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Will you hurt me–” I interrupted myself. Suddenly, I didn’t want to know the answer to that question. If he said yes then it would only solidify another reason I had to hate him. And what good would that do when reason couldn’t appeal to my attraction to him?

“Only if you ask me to.” His voice sounded thick, coated with nothing more but desire.

Startled, I blinked. 

“Not where I was going with this,” I muttered while a tiny part of me added _but good to know_.

“The answer is no. I won’t hurt you if I become impatient, which I don’t think will happen, by the way,” he said. I opened my mouth but he was quicker. “I want you by my side and I want you to take the decision by yourself. I’ve taken what or who I wanted, when I wanted and however I wanted my entire life. It gets boring after awhile.”

“And I don’t bore you?”

“Not one bit. You’re not exactly predictable.”

“Is that the only reason you’re so adamant about–” I frowned, trying to pick the best words.

“Having you?” he offered in a low voice, gazing at me once he hit the brakes. I nodded lightly. “Not the only one, no.”

I stared at him, searching his face or posture for a tell that he was lying. After years of interviewing clients, cross examining witnesses and debating with prosecutions, I would say I was very good at picking up lies. Either Count Dracula rarely lied or I was too dense to pick up his tells from his years of practice. What mattered was that I believed him when he said that. 

I relaxed on my seat, satisfied that I was more to him than simply a distraction to soothe his centuries–long boredom. While I knew full well that I shouldn’t be pleased with that, I also knew that it was only human of me to feel glad that he liked me beyond my looks or my ability to entertain him. I almost asked him what were the other reasons but, running the risk of hearing something I wouldn’t be equally as pleased with, decided against it.

“Okay,” I settled for saying.

A knot in my chest untied itself and breathing suddenly became easier. We fell into silence, albeit a surprisingly comfortable one, for the rest of the trip. 

Greenwich Park made me lean forward on my seat and crane my neck to try getting a better look at it past Count Dracula. Light poles scattered here and there only alluded to the expanse of the green field extending at our right. Where light didn’t touch, it was pure pitch black. As the car kept moving, chestnut trees came into view at the very edge of the park illuminated only by tiny lamps hidden between brushes. I’d been there enough times to know that some days you couldn’t get more than 10 paces without bumping into someone. It was odd to see it utterly empty and enveloped by dark, like it was forgotten by all during the night. From this angle I could see nothing of the city and for a moment Greenwich Park existed beyond the touch of modernity, beyond the touch of people. As we slid to a stop, the gate that led to the park came into view as did a security guard, breaking the impression.

“I’ve never been in this part of the city at night,” I stated.

Dracula set the car in reverse and paralleled parked like he had been doing it for years instead of weeks. Presumably, he had picked up that skill from feeding on someone’s blood. Considering he had bought a car, he had most likely also bought his driving license since he couldn’t have completed driving lessons in less than 2 months. 

“Why not?” He asked after he was finished. 

“Never thought of coming here after dark,” I shrugged. “People usually stay to watch the sunset and leave,” I pointed at a group of people leaving the park, filing past the car, oblivious to us watching them. “I bet it’s quiet now.”

“You’ll see.” 

Before I could say more, Dracula turned off the car and left, disappearing in a blink. I spared myself from being surprised when my door was opened and he offered me a large hand. He’d moved that fast before, when we went to Camden, only then I didn't know how he’d done it. I slid my hand into his and he used his grip as leverage to pull me towards him and slam the door in one motion. I tipped my head to look at him, seeing the sly grin in his face, looking very happy with himself that he’d made my heart jump as I realised how close we were. 

I tried taking my hand back but all that did was make Dracula hold it tighter and raise it between us. My hand looked ridiculously small compared to his. He shifted his grip so his thumb rested on my palm and his fingers brushed my knuckles. There was a dragon emblazoned in the ring on his fourth finger; I tried to read the inscription surrounding it but was distracted by Count Dracula stepping forward. I staggered to keep distance between us, my back hitting the car and evoking the memory of him pressing me against my front door as he kissed me. 

“Let’s not fool around. The park will close any minute now,” I told him in a low voice, more out of need to say something in an attempt to keep my body from reacting to his presence.

“So I’m yours but you can’t be mine? Doesn’t seem fair to me.”

I frowned, waiting for my brain to catch up on how that was a valid reply to what I had just said, but then I remembered the episode with Chelsea and Sarah.

“I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass,” I muttered. Dracula arched a black eyebrow, seemingly interested in the idea. “It’s an expression! Don’t get it twisted,” I said quickly, fighting a nervous smile and feeling proud of myself that I was able to. I used my free hand to push at his chest, to no effect. “I only said that to keep them away from you. I imagine it would be a little incriminating if the people I know, especially the ones I don’t care much for, started showing up dead.”

“That’s it?” He asked, pressing his thumb to my palm. His nail needled my flesh and I gasped at the danger of it breaking my skin. A steely grip kept me from escaping but he relaxed the pressure on my palm. The tip of my fingers brushed his chin in my attempt to escape and I curled them down, choosing to wrap my hand around his instead of caressing his bottom lip like I felt the urge to. “Because, you see, I’ve gotten quite good at deciphering your pulse and I don’t remember it changing when you said that earlier.”

Cold fingers touched my waist through the thin fabric of my blouse, sending a shiver up my spine. His hand wandered to my lower back, touch light as a feather as he played with the blouse’s hem. I grit my teeth, staring defiantly at him. The only way to escape his touch was if I moved my hips forward, which meant I would be forced to fit my body to his. I stood stock still as his fingers found my skin underneath my clothing, trailing up my spine and building another chill.

“Don’t read too much into it,” I told him, emboldened by how much in control I was of my body tonight. “Ever heard that joke about lawyers? How can you tell a lawyer–”

“– is lying? Because their lips are moving?” he completed with a smirk. “No, no, no. You lie to yourself, darling. But never to me. Never–” his knee parted my legs, allowing a hard rock thigh to rub against my most sensitive part, prompting a throb to begin there “–to me.”

I could’ve broken his hand with how tight I clasped it. He grunted in response and I wondered if I had indeed broken something. If I had, it didn’t seem to faze him because he continued moving. I shut my eyes, wanting to ignore the triumph I saw in his face when my hips bucked of their own volition. Reminding myself that we were out in the open, mere feet away from a security guard, I pursed my lips to stifle a moan as pleasure spread slowly through my body with every move of his thigh. 

His lips touched my cheek briefly but what made my eyes fly open was the sudden emptiness between my legs. Our bodies were no longer moulded together, with the exception of our interlaced hands. Dark eyes regarded me smugly as Dracula licked his lips, a taunting smile coming to life when I stared back at him, mortified that I had let this happen and seething with rage because he had stopped. 

“I believe we only have twenty minutes now, before the park closes,” he said, smoothing down his crumpled shirt with his free hand. “Ah, look what you’ve done to me.” He turned the hand still laced with mine to show me his thumb, now marked with several half–moons my nails had left on his skin and probably the reason he had grunted. 

I snatched my hand from his and, this time, he let me. The lingering throb between my legs made me avoid his hard stare. If I needed any more reason to believe he was evil incarnate, this was it. Teasing me with what I could have, leading me to the edge of bliss and then wrenching it away like it was nothing. I would have begged for more, too, had I not seen the smug expression on his face. I wasn’t granting him that satisfaction nor was I doing that disservice to my pride. 

“Payback for the museum?” I asked, collecting myself as I pushed forward, putting more force in my stride than needed. 

“If you want to see it that way.” He followed me to the gate. “I was thinking more along the lines of what you’re missing.”

“Your ego is extraordinarily, uh–” big? Like I hoped **_all_ **of him was? 

Unsexy thoughts, that’s what I needed to get through this. Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip having senile sex. The orcs from Lord of the Rings; oh, Viggo Mortensen was hot as Aragorn. Shit! It wasn’t working.

“You were saying?”

“Nothing,” I hissed.

Count Dracula grasped my elbow, keeping me from darting through the gate, and laced my arm with his in true gentlemanly fashion, placing a hand over mine. I shot him a cold look as he forced me to slow down to a stroll but he didn’t catch it, too busy nodding politely at the guard.

“Don’t take long, you two,” said the man, nodding back with a rather respectful yet amused gaze. 

I presumed that meant he had watched the show. Raising my chin, I cast him a derisive glance and he looked away.

As the Count and I walked, I tried regulating my breath and counting down from 10 several times to calm myself. We made a turn to our right, following one of the most lit paths, and were confronted with the famous Greenwich view. It was like seeing it for the first time, all those years ago when I’d come here as a kid. London’s skyline tipped in the horizon, the lights from Canary Wharf seeming tiny in the distance, nevertheless shining bright through the low clouds on the night sky and reflecting on the Thames. On this side of the river, yards down Greenwich Park’s hill, the Queen’s House, now a museum, and the Old Royal Naval College posed a stark contrast in all their symmetry and antique architecture, now softly highlighted by yellow illumination.

“That’s–” I searched for a word that felt appropriate but my brain was still slow after what had happened near the car, so what came out of my mouth was “–wow.”

“What do you see?” He asked me, tilting his head in my direction.

I glanced at him to see what he was doing but his gaze was focused on the view.

“Same as you.”

“No, I see more. Tell me what you see.”

Furrowing my brows, I did as he asked. He simply hummed in response when I was done. I waited to see if he would elaborate on that but his silence indicated that he wanted me to ask. 

“How is it different to what you see?” I inquired, trying to keep annoyance off my tone.

“I don’t see much of the night’s darkness, as you put it. These eyes”– he touched a finger to his temple– “have grown used to it just as yours have to sunlight. The night is as bright to me as day is for humans. For you the view is beautiful, isn’t it?” He looked at me and I nodded, wondering where he was going with this. “But not astonishing?” I shook my head in denial. “After centuries, I could have never dreamt of seeing something like this. I’m still not used to it… How ethereal modernity can be yet so utterly redundant to people who have seen it become what it is.” 

He gestured as he talked, beginning to walk again and dragging me with him. I was more than happy to follow his gait, trying to understand what he meant. He could be contemptuous and infuriating most of the time but, after that night at my house I’d also learned that he could be interesting company. I wouldn’t get another opportunity to talk with someone who had lived through most of humanity’s grand conquests and failures any time soon. Because of that, I put all of my resentment for him aside and simply listened. 

“Was it not the same way in the past? Didn’t people grow accustomed to new things as they do now?”

“Accustomed? Nobody had the opportunity to get **_accustomed_ ** to **_anything_ **. They were too busy dying young in wars or from starvation. You must remember I lived in a time where most progress was made only decades before I sunk with that ship. Before that, Europe was stuck in the Dark Ages; I quite like the name people give it now. Suits it. I had just begun consuming modern, truly advanced knowledge when I ended up at the bottom of the sea. I woke up dying to meet this age through new blood but now, it’s too easy because of these things,” he showed me his phone, flashing it on for a second before slipping it back in his jacket. “Everyone knows everything. Hardly anything is surprising to them.”

“It’s easy for you, too,” I said, thinking about how he navigated London's streets with ease and his texts to me considering he had spent the last hundred years asleep. 

“Yes because I’ve learned how. I’d expect most things would hold the same fascination for me as it does for humans but the majority of people I drink from is so–”

“Jaded?” I offered and he nodded. “You sound like it. May want to think of varying your diet if you want some real _joie de vivre_.”

“Are you offering to help?” His grip on me tightened but I ignored it, choosing to let my eyes wander on the landscape around us instead of acknowledging his taunt. I’d walked right into that one, hadn’t I? 

“I don’t count. I’m jaded, like everybody else.”

“That’s not what I remember from your blood,” he retorted. Dracula’s words instantly slowed down my pace and I risked a glance in his direction. Eyes blazing red made me stop. I started averting my gaze but I knew he wouldn’t simply drop this. As I had learned from his teasing not 10 minutes ago, he rarely dropped a subject when he brought it up. Might as well face it. When I stared at his eyes, they were black again.

“If I’m not jaded, what am I then?” I asked him.

“Drained.”

“Really, vampire puns?” I rolled my eyes but I was smiling stupidly.

He chuckled, sounding more like a purr. 

“Tired, weary, spent, worn out– choose whatever you want to call it. You still manage to enjoy things but not as you once did, that much I know. From time to time something breathes new life into you and that’s what keeps you going. The promise of excitement. Even if it’s something you think it’s silly like a new book or a song that touches your soul. So, no, you’re not jaded, Y/N.”

I scowled, an unknown rage swirling inside of me.

“Excitement? That **_is_ ** silly. I’m not sixteen anymore. No, you’re wrong. My job is what keeps me going, my ability to–”

“Is it? Routine is pleasant to you? Wallowing in the very worst of what humanity has to offer everyday as you assist criminals?”

“I don’t always assist criminals,” I began, words lashing out in anger. “I’ll have you know–”

“I already **_know_ ** everything.” He drew his brows together, giving me a languid smile which faded as he proceeded. “Y/N, all you’ve longed for your entire life is excitement, something different from the usual. Why do you think you defend killers? You could’ve become a prosecutor, surely.” He clucked his tongue, like he was tasting something in his mouth. “You even had the opportunity but it wouldn’t be as fun, would it? Imagine that, being an average lawyer in London. That would be unbearable for you. But not even defending challenging cases fulfills you anymore. Nothing does.”

“Don’t presume to know me just because you drank my blood.” I raised my forefinger finger at him when he opened his mouth; for a second I thought he would bite it off but I didn’t cower. “And **_don’t_ ** interrupt me again. Listen, and listen to me very clearly now. Everything that you know about me, you know because you took it from me. So, what you don’t get to do is twist my– my memories, feelings or whatever it is you drank, into truths that suit you and then throw them in my face.”

“But I’m not wrong, am I?” He said, matching my anger with scary calm. “You want something more from life. It’s all so very boring that you had to make a deal with me. A vampire.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. However, I didn’t like hearing truths I hardly ever thought of, so deep were they buried in the back of my mind, being voiced by the one person who had no business understanding them. After what he had just unveiled, he understood parts of me I hadn’t explored enough to feel comfortable with, yet. And while it was oddly relieving not needing to explain my musings about life, it was also despairing knowing Count Dracula was the only person ever who would be able to see the world through my eyes.

Was life so trite that I’d made a deal with him in a subconscious craving for excitement? If this was so, I should’ve tried rock climbing first; that would pose less danger than being involved with him. I would explore all of that later, preferably in the company of a very good therapist. Now, I had to drown that whirlwind inside of me or I would peel out of that park in tears. 

“Will my blood fade from your memory, in time?” I asked. 

Dracula’s gaze bore into mine with such intensity that I wondered how I managed not to fold under it. 

“If I don’t drink from you again, in a couple of weeks everything will be gone from here,” he said, tapping his temple with two fingers. Gone. Like I’d never existed. “But I’ll remember.”

His last words made my heart flutter and I sighed inwardly. I knew that feeling and it wasn’t the bond. It was by far more dangerous, which was why I had to get away from him. However, I was too far into this conversation to back down. 

“What does it taste like? Blood?”

His brows shot up for a second but then his features relaxed and only one eyebrow went up. 

“Not everyone tastes the same so it’s difficult to explain. Think of it like wine.” He made a flourish with his hand while he laced his arm with mine again, continuing our path downhill. “Yours tastes–”

“You’re not talking to me about how I taste,” I interrupted at once, acutely aware of how quickly he would be able to exploit that and turn it into a suggestive topic. “Do you need blood in order to survive or do you crave it?”

“Both. It’s not just the taste, Y/N. Although the taste is certainly appealing. It’s the sensation it provides,” as he spoke, a hand covered my own, fingers lightly stroking my skin. “The rush warm blood gives is unimaginable. Everything becomes hazy, as if I’m not here, in this world. Blood lulls me into dreams I haven’t been able to experience since I was human.” He sighed. “It’s a never ending chase for pleasure, for a glimmer of **_life_ **… Constant desire.”

I almost opened my mouth to compare what he had described to hard drugs but it seemed reductive. I had never tried anything of the sort but I doubted it compared. To live with a blinding need at all times, that must be nearly unbearable. Dracula didn’t seem to think so, however. If his tongue licking his bottom lip was any indication, he was thoroughly infatuated by it. It wasn’t simply food or an addiction. I trailed my tongue inside my mouth, absently copying him.

“Would you like to taste mine?” He asked in a low voice.

I was so surprised at his question and how he managed to pick up on my thoughts, that I accidentally nipped my tongue in my effort to hide what I’d been doing.

We were only a few feet away from entering a path flanked by cherry blossom trees and that’s where I kept my eyes as I searched desperately for something to say. Although there were little to no flowers this time of year, there were still plenty of leaves secluding the path in stygian darkness. 

“I’ve sucked my fingers after papercuts enough times to know what blood tastes like to me,” I managed to say, only the slightest tremble marking my words.

“It won’t taste the same,” Dracula assured. 

I’d be a big fat liar if I said I wasn’t at least a tiny bit curious about that statement. A savage part of me wanted to take him up on his offer and drink from him like he’d done with me. I attributed that desire to the bond. But it was a rather rational part of me that suggested that this was a good way to lead him on until Zoe and I decided to advance with our plan; it soothed the worry over my unexpected curiosity about the taste of Count Dracula’s blood.

“What’s the catch?” 

“The catch?” He echoed.

Under the cherry blossoms, we were fully encased in darkness and I had trouble seeing much further than past the next row of trees. When I turned my head to look at Dracula, all I could see was the sharpness of his jaw and the accentuated profile of his nose.

“Yes, the downsides of drinking your blood, what’s written between the lines. That thing that’ll probably make me say ‘fucking hell’ when I find out about it and will, somehow, make you win.”

He laughed. 

“There is no catch.”

“Are you lying to me? I can’t tell in the dark.”

“I want you to trust me, Y/N. Lying would be counterproductive.”

A little too much to ask but I kept my mouth shut about it.

“How will it affect me?”

“It won’t have any effect unless you drink too much of it. How does a drop sound to you?” 

Hoping to God or whatever higher power listening that this wasn’t a mistake, I grabbed Dracula’s arm with both hands and forced us to stop walking. I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the dark and see his face above me. 

“ **_One_ ** drop,” I said, still blinking repeatedly until his features started to materialise. “Anymore than that and the date is over.”

The first thing I was able to make out was the carmine in his eyes, nearly glowing in the dark. I waited for the fear to come but when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, I knew all too well that had nothing to do with being frightened. For a moment those eyes merely watched me. Then Dracula rose his hand, deathly pale even in the dark, and opened his mouth to give me a glimpse of fangs that almost touched his bottom lip. He pressed his thumb to one of those fangs until a dark liquid seeped out of the small wound. I started raising my hand to catch the drop before gravity decided to act but Count Dracula was faster. His thumb touched my bottom lip, applying the slightest pressure like he was enticing me to open my mouth and taste his blood. 

My heart leapt to my throat. While the thought that it wasn’t too late to stop this occurred to me, I knew wholeheartedly that I didn't want to stop. I matched his gaze with my own, although his was filled with unspoken desire that made something lower in me clench. 

Another prodding brush of his thumb made my lips part. My tongue flicked out to steal a taste but it wasn’t enough. I inhaled deeply and tried again. This time, Dracula eased his finger inside my mouth and I automatically sucked it, allowing my tongue to lap up his blood and drawing out more. Although it was unnaturally cold and viscous, what surprised me the most was how little it tasted like iron. Instead I was met with a far sweeter flavour, although sharp. A smirk came over me as he hissed through his teeth and his upper lip curled. I wrapped my lips around his thumb one last time, making sure I hadn’t wasted anything, and then stepped back, pulling his hand away as I did so. 

“All done,” I told him, more than happy that I’d been able to elicit a reaction to get back at him for earlier. 

“You’re not making it easy to abide by your rules,” he muttered through his unnerving jagged teeth, flickering red eyes to my lips as he rubbed his thumb with his forefinger.

“Comes with the turf.”

Dracula swiftly closed the remaining distance between us. For a moment I thought he would ignore the same rules he had just cited but then his gaze shifted to the magnetic black I’d grown to appreciate. He smoothed my hair back, burrowing his hands in it and leaning closer. My breath caught in my chest. _Shouldn’t have teased him_ , I berated myself without a twinge of regret. If he kissed me, that was it; I was done for. I held onto his arms, unsure if I was preparing myself to shove him away or to be embraced by him. 

Dracula whirled his head to the side, a vicious yet low growl coming out of his throat. As I turned to see what he was mad about, a harsh beam of light struck us, making me squint and raise a hand to shield my eyes.

“Oi! The park’s closing! You gotta leave!” Shouted a heavily accented voice from afar, holding the light’s source, a torch. “Now!”

“That’s rude,” Dracula grumbled, eyes slowly acquiring a tinge of carmine again.

“He’s just doing his job,” I said, although I agreed that the man could have approached this another way. The Count didn’t seem to hear me so I poked his ribs. “No eating the security guard,” I whispered.

That got his attention and he glanced at me with a frown. His irises were somewhere between black and red, giving it a funny shade of brown.

“Y/N, once again, I don’t **_eat_ ** people,” he bit out only so I could hear but he kept his stare past the lightbeam. “I drink them. Slowly and painfully if they deserve it. He seems to be volunteering, wouldn’t you say so?” His voice gained such a petrifying tone that I hoped I would never be at the receiving end of his anger.

“Nobody is volunteering, Dracula,” I yanked his blazer as I spoke. I clasped his hands and stroked his thumb, trying to make him focus on me and not on the guard. His gaze settled on me, more precisely on my neck. “You want me? Then don’t kill someone during a date.” 

Dracula straightened, gaining his regal posture back as an impassive look came over his features. How quickly he shifted from hungry, merciless creature to a perfect picture of civility startled me. I wasn’t sure which part of him was real. 

“I’m not saying it again! Leave!”

“We’re going, officer,” Dracula affirmed, sounding collected but when he spoke again the tinge of threat marked his words. “Put the light away from our faces.”

“Please,” I added. 

The man shone the beam on the field, past the cherry blossoms lane. Relief made me breathe easier and I entwined my arm with Dracula’s as a guarantee that he wouldn’t attack the man. Futile effort, probably, but I wasn’t letting him go just to watch him tear someone apart because we’d been interrupted.

We made our way back towards the guard. As we started turning to go up the hill, the guard called after us. Dracula and I turned to look at him, and I noticed that wasn’t the same man who had greeted us on the way in. 

“That gate is already closed,” he told us in a much more temperate manner. “The one by the river is still open. I’ll accompany you there.” He said something else under his breath that I didn’t catch but Dracula’s hiss told me he’d heard it. 

“Ignore him,” I muttered. 

“Not an easy task when you’re hungry. You’ll understand once you’re my bride.” He flashed me a smile that managed to be both feral and seductive. It was a thin line between the both for whatever concerned him and yet the combination didn’t seem so odd. 

As we followed the guard down the rest of the hill, Dracula’s words rang in my head. _Once you’re my bride_ , he’d said with such certainty that only confirmed that I couldn’t do this; I couldn’t surrender like Renfield had suggested. Drinking his blood was a step too far, one I knew I couldn’t take back. My tongue swiped at my cheeks, looking for a residual taste of that rich liquid but it had faded. I had a temper, alright, but it had never driven me to actually consider murder. For the Count, that option came all too easily. I didn’t want to understand his thirst for blood if I had to kill in order to quench it.

Zoe’s pill simply _had_ to work when it was done. But, first, Count Dracula would have to agree to accompany me to the wedding in Berkeley. I peered at Dracula and saw that he was still stabbing daggers with his eyes at the guard.

“What are your plans next week?” I asked, craning my neck to look at him. He spared me a glance but I insisted. “For our next date. You usually plan things, don’t you?”

“Yes but I’m not telling you. I enjoy surprising you.”

“And I enjoy your surprises,” I said and he threw me another glance, though this one was wry with humour. “More or less. You’re not subtle but you know that. If you’ve got something planned, cancel it.”

Then he turned his head to really look at me. 

“Why?” 

“A friend– no, that's a lie. **_Someone_ ** I know is getting married next weekend. I’d like you to come with me.”

“You’ve never invited me anywhere,” he remarked and then grinned. “Oh, is it working? Am I actually bending that iron will of yours that now you want to spend **_time_ **with me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snapped. “You don’t stand a chance.” He cocked an eyebrow at that. “Renfield suggested I take you; I’m surprised he hasn’t told you about this,” I looked at the Count for confirmation and he shook his head in denial. “The bride and I… don’t get along, you could say. Basically, I want you to come with me because I’m petty when it comes to her and you’ll be excellent company to annoy her on the special day. ”

“So I’ll be” –he squinted– “ **_arm candy_ **?”

“Your words, not mine. Will you come?”

“Yes,” he said without thinking twice. Good. I didn’t know if he trusted me or if he simply didn’t regard me as dangerous but I would need more of that swift acquiescence so Zoe’s plan could work. “When is the wedding?”

“Next Saturday. It starts at dusk so I gather the sun will still be out. I have to be there for the ceremony but it’s fine if you arrive during the reception. I’ll find other ways to entertain myself until then,” I wiggled my brows at him jokingly and he glared at me. He didn’t need to know I intended to entertain myself with booze, and not the company of another man. “You’ll have to travel up north, by the way. The wedding’s at Berkeley Castle. I hope it’s not an issue.”

“A castle? Are we attending an aristocrat’s wedding?”

I laughed. 

“Evelyn wishes but no, she's not even remotely close to aristocracy. She rented the place, that’s all.” The look of disbelief on his face made me snort. “Welcome to the 21st century, people rent castles to get married and can divorce the next day if they want to.”

He muttered under his breath, something to do with this generation’s little regard for tradition. Considering he wanted nothing to do with christianity, I doubted Count Dracula held values about traditional marriage, so I took that as a critique towards the rented castle.

Ahead of us, the security guard waited with a hand on the gate, seemingly desperate for our departure so he could leave, too. If only he knew how lucky he’d been, he wouldn’t be scowling. Across the street stood the Queen’s House and past that, the imposing Old Royal Naval College.

“Let’s go over there,” I pointed at the College. “I’ve never seen it up close at night and I heard the grounds stay open until late. Will I ruin your plans for the rest of the night if we go?”

“I had a dinner reservation for you at 9pm but if you prefer–”

“I’m not hungry,” I interrupted. “There are tons of restaurants in London to choose from later if I change my mind. Come on.”

Count Dracula allowed me to drag him along. After passing the Queen’s House, we had a full view of the staggeringly large assembly of buildings that was the Old Royal Naval College. A thick veil of fog hung heavily on the riverbank, swallowing everything around us in its gloom. I’d expected to visit the place in all its splendor and to glimpse the glittering lights reflecting on the Thames but London’s weather wasn’t agreeable to my wishes. Still, it didn’t take away any of its beauty but added a weirdly inviting sense to it. In horror movies, people always died when they went into the big scary places, which was what Old Royal Naval College reminded me of right now. If I’d been alone, I would have turned back and left, but arm–in–arm with a vampire, it felt nothing short of appropriate. 

“It’s half museum, half university,” I explained as we entered through the East Gate. “Greenwich College holds a few courses here.”

At our left, two buildings etched in white stone rose over our heads, identical in their baroque architecture, each of them bearing a domed tower that faced towards a large symmetric square with a single sculpture in the center. A few yards beyond them stood the Queen’s House, centered between the buildings, with an unobstructed view of the River Thames, were it not for the heavy fog.

“I think most of this side is the museum,” I pointed at the buildings to our right, smaller in stature and much less imposing than the ones to our left but still fairly beautiful. “It used to be a training facility for the royal navy a long time ago so the museum is solely focused on navigation. You might like it, you’re very acquainted with life on water,” I teased.

“I’m staying away from ships for the next hundred years,” Dracula grumbled, making me laugh. He glared at me but I shrugged, not making any effort to mask my amusement. “You didn’t study here.”

“No. It was too far from my home to be an option but I liked coming here as a child and pretending I was–” I eyed him, suddenly feeling foolish. I’d almost told him I enjoyed pretending I was a princess. What would my childhood memories matter to him? He stared at me expectantly but I’d gotten a look at a plaque behind his head and immediately forgot about my concerns. “They reopened the Painted Hall!”

Dracula turned around to our left, walking slowly towards the sign hung next to a huge door carved in wood, leading inside the baroque tower from one of the symmetric courts. A photo was stamped next to the announcement that the restoration was done and I gazed at it, fighting the urge to close my eyes and try to recapture from memory the fresco ceiling and walls. 

“I’m definitely coming here tomorrow,” I told him, squeezing his arm so I wouldn’t jump up and down in excitement. “It was gorgeous before, so I can only imagine what it looks like now.”

Dracula smiled at me, eyes gleaming mischievously. 

“Does this door lead there?” 

“Yes,” I said, furrowing my brows when his smile grew bigger. He started pulling me up the steps. “What are you doing?”

“Going inside. The sun hampers my opportunity to come here along with everybody else, and I want to see it now.”

He placed a powerful hand on the door’s handle and I grabbed him, trying to pull him away from the door but he didn’t budge. 

“It’s closed. What’s with you and places you’re not supposed to go in?” I asked, looking around us to see if there was anyone watching us. The misty white blanket surrounding us made me strain my eyes to see past a couple of metres. If there was anyone around here, they wouldn’t be seeing much of anything. “V&A Museum, that night at my house and now this. Can’t you behave?”

“Nobody has fun if they behave all the time, Y/N,” he leaned his weight on the door. “I do my best to **_mis_** behave. You should try it more often.” 

A slight push with his shoulder and there was an audible crack before the door creaked open. 

“We’re going to get arrested,” I shrilled, staring at the open door in shock. I wasn’t sure if I was more surprised at how easily he’d opened it or that he actually did it.

“Aren’t you curious?” 

Of course I was. Much like the date at V&A, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but contrary to that, Dracula had just broken inside a building that was almost as old as him. No bribery, nothing; just because he felt like it. His words from earlier flashed in my mind. He took what he wanted and when he wanted, and apparently that applied to anything. A touch of inhuman strength combined with immortality and irreverence, that put the world at his feet to do as he liked. Although becoming his bride was out of the question, it made me wonder if it would be that terrible, living forever. Starting over. Being completely free, not bound by societal rules. Having to fear nothing. 

Dracula pushed the door open slowly and I flinched, waiting for an alarm to ring but I heard nothing except the howling of the wind. His arm flashed inside in a movement too fast for my brain to comprehend, then I heard another crack and a **_zzt!_ ** that sounded a lot like a lamp exploding. A small device now stood in his grip, crushed beyond recognition.

“No alarm,” he said, sticking its remains in his pocket. Well, that was taken care of.

I bit my lip, anxious to dart inside and have not only a glimpse of what I knew was stored inside but also of the freedom I guessed the Count experienced in doing forbidden things like this.

“We’re trespassing a world heritage site,” I said, trying to ground myself. “Do you have any idea the implications of this for me? At best, I lose my license to practise. At worst–”

“Quit worrying. It’ll be fun!”

“What about cameras?”

“They’re not on, or I would have heard them. Nothing can beat a vampire’s ears. The British should be less trusting and set up better security, then again, not much can stop me,” he grinned. My internal conflict must’ve been stamped on my face because he stepped towards me and grabbed my arms, leaning down to level his eyes with mine; with his height that didn’t mean much, I still had to tip my head back to look at him. “There is not a beating heart around here, except for yours. You won’t get caught, and if the police suddenly decide to come, I’ll get you out before they so much take a step out of the car. Nothing will happen to you.” When he spoke his voice was unusually gentle but still held a tone of persuasiveness. 

I exhaled harshly. When he put it like that...

“Fine,” I conceded. 

Dracula flashed me another grin and then stepped back, fully pushing the door open and gesturing for me to enter first. 

Soft lights shining from beneath the dark stone columns in the vestibule instantly drew my eyes up to the soaring domed ceiling, adorned with a myriad of intricate designs made of what appeared to be gold. I twirled, admiring the newly found brightness that I didn’t remember from my last visit two years ago. When I finally stopped twirling, I was so dizzy that the winged women painted on the wall above the door seemed to be moving. 

“Y/N,” the Count called, voice echoing from behind me. “Come see.”

He sounded as marveled as I felt, and I rushed up the staircase’s shallow steps. It took all of my self control to keep my eyes down, saving the surprise until I had gone all the way inside the Painted Hall. 

“Oh!” Such a simplistic sound for what I was met with but no other words would suffice. 

Tipping my head back until my neck hurt, I walked slowly trying to encompass all the contents of the fresco on the high ceiling. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and I yelped when I bumped into something. That something was Dracula. He smiled at me briefly before tugging me towards a row of red leather cushioned benches at the center of the room. We lied down side by side, and for once I wasn’t worried about being so close to him. 

The shades of maroon and yellow, muted reds and blues, and blissful white and grey were so easily distinguishable now, even in the little light coming from small spotlights on the floor. Years ago they all appeared grey and dingy, uncared for. But everything seemed so… loved now. The warriors depicted in the fresco were renewed with strength and fierceness, and the figures on the losing side all the more desperate and helpless before them. 

“I feel so small,” I whispered as to not break the spell of wonder. “Do you?”

His only response was a grunt, and I chose to take that as yes. 

We stood in silence, simply gazing in awe at the masterpiece above us. I knew from my previous visit that the walls in the long hall were also painted but we were busy trapped in the ceiling’s beauty to pay any attention to the rest. Slowly, I became aware that high windows allowed a milky light caused by the fog to seep in, casting timeless shadows inside the room, detaching it from existence and wrapping me in a blanket of tranquility. 

I wasn’t sure how much time passed but when Dracula finally spoke, I was catapulted out of heaven back to the world around me.

“Britain’s Sistine Chapel.”

My chin grazed his shoulder when I turned to look at him. He laid with his hands over his chest, eyes intently focused up. The men in the paintings seemed chaste compared to him, even in their battle stance. 

“I’ve never been to the Sistine Chapel.”

“Me neither. I wager it wouldn’t be a pleasant stroll for me, with all those crucifixes ruining the place,” he snorted. “I’ve only seen it through the eyes of other people but this” –he made a wide gesture with his arm– “is **_fair_ ** competition.”

I was still staring at him. His sinuous profile, the shape of his mouth when he spoke, the shallow wrinkles on his temples, the sharp line from his jaw to his neck. But I really knew I was in big trouble when his voice reverberated inside the room and coalesced in my chest with warmth, causing my heartbeat to increase. 

Damn this stupid bond. A few days ago I could easily differentiate the bond from my feelings but now I wasn’t sure where the bond ended and my true self began. Had to be the bond acting up, and the opulent surroundings working its magic; **_had to be_ **.

“Is there anyone else like you out there?” I questioned, seeking to explore the subject to remind me of his monstrosity. I’d already put on my courtroom face when he looked at me.

“Like me? Impossible,” he rolled his eyes as if he was baffled at the suggestion. “All this can’t be replicated easily, I imagine,” he swiped a hand over himself, smiling deviously. “Not to mention my phenomenal wits and–”

“Shut up,” I said, shaking with laughter. “You're the only person that can make cockiness charming, I swear.” Realising I had just paid him a compliment, which was not at all what I intended when I began this conversation, I hurriedly continued. “I meant to ask if there are more vampires.”

“No,” his smile diminished at the word. “As far as I know I’m the only one that still remains. I’ve tried making more, over the course of decades–” he sighed, “but all of them maintained only a shadow of their former selves. Husks that paid no mind to the world around them, except to feed– they didn’t possess much intelligence,” he paused, apparently in thought. “I was successful once but this… progeny of mine… proved to be too emotional to be of any use. So I disposed of him.”

The nonchalance in which he spoke about killing the very thing he’d made caused alarm bells to start ringing in my head, not to mention how worried I suddenly became for myself if he turned me into a vampire against my will. Would all of me disappear and be substituted by mindless hunger if he failed? What bothered me the most weren’t these remarks, though.

“Too emotional?” I asked, watching him intently.

“Yes, tiresome things– emotions,” disgust marred his words as he waved a hand. “They’re distracting, which was the case with Johnny, you see. He–”

“You’re so full of shit.”

He set his jaw and turned his head with leaden slowness to face me. If he was trying to intimidate me, it didn’t work. I smiled confidently at him, like I had just heard a judge announcing a winning verdict for the defense.

“What did you say?”

“You are full of shit,” I repeated, marking each syllable. “You expect me to believe that you’ve been trying to make a companion for centuries but don’t have any feelings?”

“I don’t expect you to **_believe_ ** anything. Those are hard facts.”

“Are they?” I challenged and Dracula narrowed his eyes. “It sounds to me that you’re lonely, Count. Why else go to such efforts to make someone else like you? Someone to share eternity with, someone that’ll understand everything–” I remembered how I felt earlier at the park, that sense of unspoken comprehension and how much it hurt having my thoughts hurled at me by him. I forced myself to lay a hand on his cheek. “Someone that will see the world through your eyes.”

The thin line that his mouth had become softened. My victory only lasted a second before an insensible mask assumed his features.

“Darling,” he said, placing a hand upon mine. His eyes were blank, like he was seeing through me. “If you need to believe that I’m capable of feeling something to make eternal life in my company seem bearable then, be my guest. Honestly, I expected you were smarter than that.”

The coldness and cutting tone in his voice made my confidence fault for a moment. His denial to set Renfield free as I begged for him was proof that he could be an insensitive bastard. Maybe the Painted Hall’s beauty made me imagine things and seek things I couldn’t have. But I hadn’t hallucinated the painful sorrow in his eyes when he spoke of his wife only a few nights ago.

I smiled again because I knew something about him that he couldn’t hide behind his big scary vampire pose; Dracula learnt to see past my façade but he wasn’t the only with that skill.

“I **_am_ ** smarter than that,” I told him, sliding my hand from his and staring up at the ceiling with newly found eyes. 

Dracula stared at me for another moment but I resisted him, making conversation about the gods, kings and queens portrayed in the fresco until he lied down again and listened in gravely silence as I rambled about the details I remembered from my last tour. 

Not long after that he stated with no small dose of indifference that he had to take me home because his hunger had escalated and couldn’t spend any more time in my presence if he was to respect our deal.

I was still smiling triumphantly when I went to sleep that night.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late again! But this time it was my beta reader's fault, so blame her.

Friday. The day before the big day. 

Evelyn would finally tie the knot and I would, hopefully, be still alive by the end of the night and be free of Count Dracula. If everything went according to plan, in a few years I would only remember him as that mysterious guy I once had a fling with and reminisce about him over wine on nights where I found myself lonely.

I should not remember Count Dracula as the guy I had a fling with nor should I ever think about him as I was lonely. It would be better if I didn’t think about him at all, for the rest of my life. The fact that my brain hadn’t immediately presented that as an option was worrisome enough to make me press the button for St Thomas Hospital’s ground floor again, like that would make the lift descend faster. 

The faster I met with Zoe, the faster I would be reminded of the dangers of thinking about Dracula as any sort of romantic interest. That wasn’t an alternative – not when I was cornered into choosing eternal life or dying. 

“This can’t go on, Zoe,” said a male voice. 

I’d been in the process of entering the hospital’s lobby when I heard it and stopped dead in my tracks, dodging behind a flower bouquet display for sale. I grabbed one of the ‘get well’ cards and pretended to read it, pricking my ears up. The attendant circled the counter, offering to help me with the appropriate bouquet and telling me how I could buy one and send it up to my loved one’s room, but I quickly waved her away. 

I wasn’t entirely sure why I decided to hide but my gut told me this wasn’t a conversation I was supposed to hear. Like the world’s worst spy, I peered up between leaves and colourful flowers to see Zoe, sitting down on one of the hospital’s ugly couches as a young man paced in front of her, hands on his waist like he was scolding her. Zoe was facing sideways but I wasn’t in her line of vision, leading me to shift closer so I could hear the man. 

“... strong enough. You’re near death, for God’s sake! And you want to take him down with you?”

“Keep your voice down, Jack,” Zoe said. 

She tried to grab his wrist but he stepped out of her reach, shaking his head to the sides. Jack, her student if memory served, was one of those people that could be anywhere between 16 and 30. His pale face didn’t bear a shadow of a beard, which made me wonder if he could grow one at all, but his huge eyes looked so frightened and troubled that he couldn’t be a teenager.

“Zoe, this is a stupid plan...” he said something else in a hushed voice, and I moved closer, straining my hearing. “...happened in Surrey wasn’t enough for you? The Foundation has to stop. Everything has to stop! This is wrong, and you know it.” Shock kept me from gasping but I couldn’t help when my mouth fell open. “Why do you care about this woman? I ask you for help with Lucy, my- my best **_friend_ **, and you push me away but you run to help this woman you barely know! You’ve known me for years, Zoe. I trusted you every step of the way with the Foundation but you can’t do this for me?”

“You don’t understand. There is no way I can help you with Lucy because she does not **_want_ **to be helped. Y/N does! She wants out and after reviewing her reputation in London’s courtrooms, she doesn’t mind if things get ugly, either. She’ll do anything to be free of Count Dracula, I’m sure of it, but I’m not sure you’re willing to go that far, Jack.”

“I am!” He protested, slamming his foot on the floor. “I… I love Lucy, Zoe. I’ll do anything for her!”

“Would you let other people risk their lives for her? I’ll have over fifty people risking their lives at this wedding, not to say about the other two hundred guests that will be in danger if we don’t manage to get Dracula. Y/N can handle it but do you want something like that on your conscience?”

“No! But it’s stupid, Zoe. Nobody needs to–” he whispered the word but ‘die’ was clear on his mouth. “Help me get Lucy out of London and let Dracula have Y/N! Lucy will be safe with me, I’ll take her to Ireland, yeah,” –he nodded, face brightening– “she’ll stay with me and my grandparents until she gets better and the Count will be too wrapped up with Y/N to take any notice. It’s a great plan.”

“It’s a naïve one, Jack. Lucy won’t go willingly, that’s called kidnapping by the way, and I need Count Dracula. Is that included in your plan?” Zoe paused and Jack simply stared at her in silence. “I know it’s not. Unlike yours, my plan has a high chance of working–”

“At what cost?”

“–and Lucy will be free by the end of it, same as yours,” Zoe continued like he hadn’t spoken. “It’s not up for discussion, Jack, I told you about this as a courtesy, now go wait for me in the car. I know you’re angry but do me a favour and don’t storm off, I’m really in no condition to drive.” She looked at the watch on her wrist. “Y/N will be here any minute, she usually finishes up with visiting Mr. Renfield about this hour. Go, Jack.”

Jack stood there in a staring contest with Zoe. Not a moment later, Jack lowered his eyes, granting her the win before making his way towards the exit. I raised the get well card, concealing my face behind it as he passed me. I had never seen him before but now that I knew he was driving Zoe around, I couldn't be sure that he didn’t know me.

If I could, I would find somewhere to sit and ruminate about their conversation but then Zoe would have enough time to grow suspicious about my delay. 

As soon as Jack disappeared from my sight, I threw the card on the counter and strode over to where Zoe was sitting. 

I hadn’t made up my mind about how I was going to deal with what I had just heard until I took one look at her face. She was paler than when I last saw her and now her skin had a greenish tint that solidified death’s hold over her body. Her eyes appeared sunken like she’d lost a lot of weight in the span of the past week, but that could be the dark circles around them playing a trick on my brain. Zoe gave me a shaky smile that made me sit down next to her as if I was made of stone.

“I know I look like shit,” she said, patting my knee. “Save the pity.”

“I don’t pity you but I **_am_ ** worried about you. Is the cancer getting worse?”

“A bit but you caught me on a bad day, that’s all. Are you ready?”

“Zoe–” I began but she threw me a cold look with a slight shake of her head. “Okay, you don’t want sympathy, fine, but is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, now that we have these” –she pulled an orange pill bottle from her pocket and shook it– “you can trap Count Dracula. That’s what you can do for me.”

I plucked the tiny bottle from her fingers, analysing the two pills inside of it – one of them red and the other one blue – and then started to laugh. Zoe furrowed her brows but her lips tugged up, waiting for a cue to start laughing, too.

“Matrix pills,” I explained between laughs but Zoe didn’t join in, apparently clueless. “Keanu Reeves is offered two pills in the film, the blue one keeps him living in willful ignorance from the evil in the world and the red one is, well, freedom, if we put it simply.”

“Nevermind their colour, both of these are your red pill.” Her mouth quirked up. “Follow the white rabbit.”

“Hey, you know it!” I grinned. 

“Yeah, I’m a cool kid.” Zoe chuckled but was interrupted by a cough that soon left her out of breath. She waved me off before I offered help, so I stood there, waiting for her to cough up a lung anytime. “I made two–” another series of coughs “–two pills–” she cleared her throat and took a deep breath “–just in case... but I can replicate them if this fails and we need more in the future. I ran out of blue cases which is why they’re different colours.”

Remembering the day I first met Zoe and how she mentioned that studying Count Dracula might help with finding a cure for her cancer, I was filled with a determination I didn’t feel often in my everyday life. This plan wasn’t all about me. I needed to do this for Zoe so she could have a chance, too, no matter what.

“I’ll take the red pill for good luck,” I told her. “Does it actually work?”

“Yes, it works. Before they ingested the medication, the subjects were asked to memorise sequences from a card deck and play a memory game with them while we monitored brain waves. We continued mapping their brain all throughout the test, including the moment of the pill’s ingestion–” Zoe stopped, taking several breaths and sounding like she’d just ran a marathon.

“Okay, no need to explain the science behind it. If it works, I’m fine with it. What about the side effects?”

“Still the same ones, unfortunately. Short term memory loss is still a possibility which is why the plan needs to move fast after you take the pill. Here, you’ll need this, too.” From another pocket, she pulled a mobile phone and gave it to me. There wasn’t a scratch on the screen so I assumed it was brand new. “There are a few numbers saved in the contact list, one of them is mine. In my condition, it’s best that I stay in London, and if I go anywhere near Berkeley I bet Dracula will be able to scent me. Anything feels weird to you, anything at **_all_ **, you text me and we abort the plan. Remember, text this time. We’ll destroy the phone later anyway. If you call me from inside the Berkeley Castle, the Count might be able to overhear it. Raoul’s and Sylvia’s numbers are saved there, too. Who are them, again?”

“Zoe, we’ve been through this–”

“I know we have but I need to be sure you remember. Parrot it back to me.”

I took a deep breath.

“Raoul is the burly french guy you showed me a picture of last time we met. He’ll pose as a waiter at the reception; when I’m ready, I ask him for a Manhattan. Terrible drink, by the way, I’m absolutely not drinking that.” I made a face of disgust and Zoe snorted. “Raoul will leave to **_‘get the drink’_ **”–I made air quotes–“ but he’ll take too long, so I tell Dracula that I’ll go look for the waiter because I’m really thirsting for a Manhattan. Then I slip out to the ladies’ room and take one of the pills. I’ll return to Dracula, annoyed because I couldn’t find the waiter, and ask him to join me in the garden.” Now, for the scary part. “Away from everyone, I’ll let him bite me and pray that this bloody pill works and he doesn’t kill me.”

“It’ll work.” Zoe clasped my hand and squeezed it.

“Sylvia is the tiny girl with short red hair disguised as one of the wedding planners,” I continued. “She’ll be outside all night, controlling who can go in and come out of the castle and she’ll have a panoramic view of the gardens. When Dracula is, huh, distracted drinking my blood, Sylvia will turn on the UV lights in the garden. If I’m still alive, I’ll run as your team moves in on him.”

“Now, for the final blow,” announced Zoe as she rummaged through her purse. She showed me a pen, black and slim. It looked like one those fancy, expensive ones posh people usually had. “It’s not an actual pen,” she explained as if reading my thoughts. “Looks like one, yeah but it’s a modified insulin pen.” She opened it and my nose was attacked by a wave of lavender, rosemary, and cinnamon. Not a nice combination. I was still grimacing when I noticed the tiny needle at the tip. “Inside of it, there are essential oils to disguise the scent of our true weapon, my blood.”

My mouth dropped open. It was sick, and genius at the same time. 

“You didn’t tell me about this part of the plan.”

“I didn’t think of it until three days ago.” Zoe closed the pen and handed it to me. I took it like it was made of crystal. “When Dracula bit me, my blood crippled him enough for the Foundation to take him into custody without any casualties. It was surprisingly easy once he was poisoned by it, I expect it’ll work perfectly this time, too. The pen is pressure activated. Jab him with it when you think he’s sufficiently distracted drinking you and he’ll go down like a ton of bricks.”

“Brilliant,” I said, turning the pen between my fingers. “Can we still keep the UV lights, though? Safety and all.”

“We’ll keep them. You’re all set now. Are you leaving tonight?”

“Yeah. I’ll take a train to Gloucester at 9pm. It’s twenty minutes away from Berkeley by car, so it should be fine.”

“Are you staying in Gloucester or Berkeley?”

“Gloucester. There weren’t vacancies in Berkeley anymore. It’ll be a full wedding, I guess. Will you need samples today? It’s all healed up now.” I pointed at the side of my neck where Dracula had bit me.

Apprehension made me hold my breath. What if Zoe collected my blood and somehow found out it was different because I drank the Count’s blood? I hadn’t told her about that, and I frankly had no plans to, whether it impacted her research or not. As much as I would like to deny it, that moment at the park was terrifying and sensuous at the same time, and entirely mine to remember. Zoe would only ruin it with her scolding and I wanted to keep at least a few good memories. 

“No,” said Zoe, assuaging my worry. “Now that it’s healed there aren’t any antibodies and white blood cells being produced specifically to combat the wound. There’s no point in collecting samples.”

Zoe and I stared at each other as silence fell, our resolve making our gazes nearly clang in the air. 

I trusted Zoe to make this work; trusted her because I knew she not only wanted this but needed this to survive. How far that trust reached was an entirely different matter. She was hiding something from me, and now, after overhearing Jack spouting at her, I knew it involved the Foundation and what happened to those poor students in Surrey. The fact that she had lied to me that day meant that I wouldn’t like the truth if I heard it, which is why I needed to know.

“Do I have to worry about what happened in Surrey?”

Zoe shut her eyes and threw her head back as she blew out a breath.

“You heard all of that?” Her voice was calm. Not such a bad liar, after all.

“Most of it. So. Anything you want to tell me?”

“Not really. Two of Jack’s friends from the Foundation got conscience heavy about some things and committed suicide.”

“The news are saying it was murder,” I countered.

“The news are making a spectacle,” Zoe said with a touch of finality. “It was suicide.”

I watched her carefully, shooting her one of my most piercing stares but she simply stared back without crumbling. 

I wouldn’t be quick to trust Zoe’s word on that matter; she’d lied before about it. It confirmed my suspicion that the Jonathan Harker Foundation was shady but as long as it didn’t affect me under these extraneous circumstances, I didn’t care what had weighed enough on those boys’ minds to commit suicide, or murder each other if the news were right. I knew damn well I should care like any person would and I found myself wondering if my ability to be stone-cold was something that appealed to Count Dracula.

What did it matter what appealed to him? In the next 48 hours I would be free of him. I’d never hear his voice again or look upon his face. I’d never live in fear of him again. 

But why wasn’t I dancing with joy at the prospect of going back to my normal life?

“Who’s Lucy?” I blurted. 

From what Jack said, I had a pretty good idea of who she was to Count Dracula but I needed to hear Zoe say it. I needed to be reminded that I wasn’t special, and it was more than my life on the line.

“A friend of Jack’s,” Zoe breathed. “Dracula has been feeding from her ever since he got here. She’s a willing donor, it seems. Jack thinks she’s very **_fond_ ** of Count Dracula.” Zoe stared at me with raised eyebrows to let me know just what type of fondness she was talking about. “Protective of him, too. Jack said she threw a massive fit when he questioned her about the bites on her neck.”

Something tore inside me. I tried to push it aside but my nose started to burn like I was about to cry.

This was what I’d wanted when I asked Zoe about Lucy, wasn’t it? Another reason why my entire ‘relationship’, if one could call it that, with Count Dracula wasn’t real. He had been manipulating me from the very beginning, and I should’ve been smarter than to fall for it, yet here I was: feeling betrayed and rejected, wishing to be swallowed by the ground for ever having thought that I mattered to him when I was just a conquest to keep him entertained while he drained Lucy. I should feel glad that he wasn’t that infatuated by me because it would make things easier but I felt the furthest thing from victorious in that moment.

I blinked to clear the tears that had threatened to spill. 

“I’m being ridiculous,” I murmured, looking down at my hands because I was too ashamed to look at Zoe. “Anyway. Why don’t we review plans B, C, D and all the rest of the alphabet in case things go south and I can’t stab Dracula with this?” I shook the pen.

“Y/N–” Zoe’s voice was gentle, and I gritted my teeth.

“Oh, please don’t be nice. You don’t want sympathy and neither do I. Come on, plan B. I think I’m still a little off on the details, so help me out.”

“It’s the bond, Y/N. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not real.” 

I nodded, meeting her eyes briefly before looking down at my hands again.

“Right. So, plan B…”

When we were done reviewing the other scenarios, I barely remembered what I’d been so sad about but my chest still felt constricted as I headed home.

* * *

I thought I had it all figured out as I closed my suitcase. The jealousy and rejection I’d felt earlier must have derived from the bond I shared with the Count; much like Renfield had gone into a fit upon finding out his ‘master’ had bitten me, I had felt a figment of that when Zoe told me about Lucy. 

Simple as that. 

But when my phone rang and I saw the name Count Dracula, I almost didn’t answer him out of spite. 

“Stupid fucking bond,” I cursed, staring at the screen. “It’s not real, Y/N. Just answer him. He probably just wants to ask how to get to Berkeley.” I noticed my reflection on my window and frowned. “Talking to myself, excellent. I’ll be like Renfield in no time.” I grabbed the phone. “Hi.”

“What are you wearing?” Dracula asked, making my eyebrows shoot up.

“Usually there’s more foreplay before phone sex,” I blurted, and smacked my forehead as soon as I said it. 

Silence. And then a hearty laugh.

“I meant the wedding. But, I’m delighted to know that’s been on your mind. Would you care to elaborate, darling?”

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“It was a joke,” I managed to say, throwing myself on my bed and placing a pillow over my face as if that could keep my cheeks from blushing.

“Of course it was,” he said, still laughing. “So, what colour is your dress? People tend to match for occasions like this, right?”

“Purple,” I replied, hoping my smile didn’t come through in the word. Was he worried about us looking good together? And why was this so endearing to me?

“Ah, perfect.”

“Is your tie purple, too?”

“No, but it’ll match. You can come down, now.”

“Come down to where?”

“I’m outside of your house,” he said. My doorbell rang as evidence, making me fling the pillow I had on my face across the room. “I’d only thought of the tie when I got here and I feared we would be late in case I needed to return home to–”

“No, **_I_ **will be late.” I sat up. “I’ve got a train to catch for Gloucester in an hour. I can’t go on a date with you tonight.”

“It’s not a date and you’re not taking the train. I bought this car and I mean to use it, so I’m driving us there tonight.”

I didn’t know where to start; the fact that he had probably planned this and not warned me in advance – better yet, asked me! – or that he expected me to simply comply and come down because he said so. 

Instead, what came out of my mouth was, “It’s a three hour drive!”

“We can make it in less than that. Are you all packed?”

“Yes but I’m not going with you. I already bought train tickets. I’m not wasting my money and I’d much rather go by train and arrive there earlier than travel with you.”

“I’ll pay you back, and I promise I’ll be fun company.”

I stood up from the bed and started stomping around my room.

“You can’t make demands and expect me to obey. I don’t know how women were during your time but I certainly won’t–”

“Yes, yes, you bow to no one. We’re very clear on that,” he said with plain impatience and mockery, which made me huff in affront. “Take this road trip” –he chuckled– “as part of your deal. Like I said before, you didn’t specify how I was to convince you to accept immortality, and this is one of my many ways. You’re bound by your contract conditions, Y/N. Unless you want to rescind your deal,” he drawled “in which case I’ll go up there and make you mine. Right now.”

I stopped walking in front of my bedroom’s door, staring down the flight of stairs to the front door like I could burn a hole through it with my gaze and strike Count Dracula. 

I’d once won an entire case in court because I gave an expert at the stand a death stare so powerful that they suddenly changed their opinion on the crime scene’s blood splatter pattern. Sadly, I’d tried that death stare with Dracula already and it hadn’t worked. Knowing him, he had probably taken it as flirting. He couldn’t see me right now but I still hoped he felt the burn of my stare.

“In short, you’re giving me no choice,” I muttered, marching around my room again because I was too wired to stay put.

“Quite the contrary, my darling. Denying our deal is still a fair choice if you have a sudden change of heart. As much as I would be disappointed if you gave up so easily–” he sighed dramatically “–I wouldn’t pass the opportunity to savour you as you so deserve.” The silent threat of desire in his tone made my pace falter and my hair to rise in its ends. “I’m not a total beast.”

My belly coiled in unwarranted need and I bit the insides of my cheeks in an attempt to ground myself. All it did was make my mind run wild with ideas of Dracula kissing me and piercing my lips with his fangs, tasting me, and slowly willing my blood into his mouth in excruciating passion as he–

“Mmm,” he made and another stab of desire attacked my body as I wondered if that’s how he would sound if I knelt before him. “I can smell your lust from here.” A chuckle. “Say the word and I’ll go up there.”

It would be easy to say yes, and easy shouldn’t be a word concerning the Count. Besides, I wasn’t a quitter.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I bit out. 

Blowing out a breath, and with it some of my sanity, I ended the call. Next I grabbed my suitcase, backpack and threw the black garment bag containing my dress over my arm. Before I started descending the staircase, I took a moment to squash my sex drive. After much needed concentration, no intrusive thoughts remained but my body still felt like someone had set me ablaze. 

Count Dracula was waiting by his car when I opened my door. I took in his appearance before I started mouthing off at him. 

So far I’d only seen him in blazers and slacks but tonight he was sporting dark jeans and a leather jacket, and for a second I was so in shock that I forgot why I was mad at him. The jacket was one I was most used to seeing bikers wear – straight cut around his neck in a way that framed his chiseled jaw and simple details on the shoulders that faded before reaching his arms. And it fit him perfectly. 

The man was sophistication incarnate in his manners and way of dressing but somehow the leather didn’t look out of place on him. In fact, he looked… cool, which wasn’t a word I would ever thought of attributing to him. Chic with a touch of menace? Yes, but cool while slightly less threatening? Not at all.

“I’ll take your blank expression as admiration,” he said, rolling his shoulders and making the jacket accentuate muscles on his arms that I hadn’t had the opportunity of noticing before. 

“It is. Look at you… All modern-like.” I swept my gaze through him again, nodding. 

“I’m modern,” he protested as he walked towards me.

“Modern **_-er_ **, if that exists. I’m not complaining but why the sudden change in style?” I gave him my suitcase when he extended a hand for it.

“A road trip calls for comfortable clothing. At least that hasn’t changed in the last century.”

Since I was exchanging an hour and a half train trip for the double of that in a car with him, I was more than thankful for choosing to wear a large sweater over leggings and trainers. As for Count Dracula, there was no denying he looked good in a leather jacket but I wasn’t sure if it could be considered comfortable. What would he have worn to his travels centuries ago? Fur and armour? That’s a sight I would be curious to see.

I followed Dracula to the BMW’s trunk when he opened it and frowned at the earthy scents that drifted to my nose. 

“Are you planning on gardening in Berkeley?”

He laughed as he pushed the wood box where the smell came from to the side and fit my suitcase next to his. 

“No. Just a little something I need to travel with, in order to rest properly when I’m away from my own home. My former home, that is.”

Former home; another way to say Wallachia, I supposed. I sniffed the air and prayed that by the end of the trip my clothes wouldn’t smell like Diana’s garden after she decided to plant new seeds.

“What’s inside the box, dirt?” I joked with a smirk. When Dracula nodded, my smirk vanished. “Are you serious?” Another nod as he shut the boot. “What? Why? Is it a vampire thing?”

“It’s very much a vampire thing. One you’ll have to learn to live with when I make you my bride.” 

Too stunned as I tried to mull that piece of information, the Count opened the door to the backseat and took my dress from me, carefully placing it on top of another garment bag. Next, he held the passenger’s door for me, gesturing for me to enter. Last time he opened a door for me, things got a little sidetracked, which reminded me of why I was mad at him. 

His mouth opened in a large grin as I strode over and anger flared up again.

“Keep in mind that I’m only accepting to travel with you because the other option, well, isn’t an option,” I told him.

“Oh, yes, of course. How preposterous,” he leaned closer, smile growing sardonic “you consenting to relentless nights of pleasure for the next hundreds of years at my side. We can’t have that, can we?”

How in the hell he managed to make his voice feel like a caress and a whip at the same time was beyond me, and I had no intention to find out. 

“No, we can’t have that,” I declared. “For the next hours, I expect you to keep your full attention on the road. Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of surviving a car crash. So hands and **_legs_ ** to yourself at all times.” He chuckled at the emphasis, switching his weight on his feet so that his knee touched my thigh; I gritted my teeth and forced myself not to move. I’d rather die than let him know how much he got to me, then again, not dying was the entire point. “No funny business.”

“I don’t see it as business. It **_is_ ** incredibly fun watching you squirm, though.”

“Yeah, must be a riot.” I rolled my eyes. “Are we agreed? Oh, fangs, too.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. 

“Sadly, yes.” He stepped aside, unblocking the way so I could enter.

Once inside, I looked up at him.

“You owe me 30 quid for the train ride.”

“Consider your dinner paid,” he said and shut the door.

I was still smiling, wondering what 30 pounds could buy in rural England – a feast, presumably – when Dracula entered the car, turned it on and started accelerating down the street, all in 5 seconds. Understanding dawned on me when he said we could make the trip in less than 3 hours. Vampire speed combined with a BMW obviously resulted in him developing a leadfoot.

“Oh, are you staying in Gloucester, too?” I asked as I hurriedly pulled on my seatbelt.

He glanced at the navigation system on the car’s dashboard that indicated our trajectory towards Gloucester and then at me. 

“Yes, in a hotel. I couldn’t find anything available in Berkeley.” He clicked the screen in the dashboard a few times and music started playing softly. _Hungry Like The Wolf_ , of all things. “Whose wedding are we attending? I seem to recall from our last date that you don’t consider this person a friend.”

I blew out a breath.

“Evelyn Seymour. I work with her. She’s done some awful things to me when we were starting at the firm and I’ve said some pretty terrible things back at her. She would’ve found a way to get me fired if it wasn’t for Renfield intervening.”

“What did she do?”

“I thought you knew everything there was to know.”

“The important things, yes, they’re easy to make out from your blood. Her name rings a bell and I know that you hate her but that’s it.”

Even my blood didn’t consider Evelyn important? Sweet.

“Remember those girls you met the other day when you picked me up from my office?” I asked, and he nodded. “All of us interned together plus Evelyn. Oftentimes the interns were paired together to run errands for our bosses, such as running to the courts to file motions and request subpoenas, things like that. Renfield and Talbot, the partner who Evelyn responded to, felt that she and I had different enough profiles yet skilled in our own ways to learn from each other, so we did most of those things together. Quite the learning experience,” I scoffed. “Everything is a competition to Evelyn, so instead of helping each other, she saw this as an opportunity to get ahead and fuck me over in the process, especially because I was being regarded as one of the most promising attorneys in the firm’s future.”

“It didn’t work,” said Dracula. He looked at me. “Renfield told me that you’re in line for becoming a partner if he doesn’t get better, so whatever Evelyn did was worthless.”

Becoming a partner at a big firm was something that I’d dreamed of since I got my degree. Until not long ago it was something I thought about often and I expected to be happy if I ever received those news, however, to my surprise, I felt absolutely nothing when hearing those words come out of Count Dracula’s lips.

Maybe it wasn’t as important as I’d imagined. 

“Yes, she tried her damndest to hurt my career, though, and me. She even went so far once to accuse me of having an affair with a judge from a case I was working with Renfield. Claimed to have ‘photographic’ evidence and everything. The partners insisted I be investigated and Renfield managed to prove that it was all pure slander before the other partners took any decisive action towards me. I think the only reason Evelyn didn’t get fired for this was because the firm practically belongs to her family, but she still got suspended for a week. She’s stopped trying to get in my way since then but she never loses an opportunity to take a jab at me, be it an outfit she deems unfashionable or a case I lost.”

“Which is where I come in,” Dracula remarked.

“Yes, as much as I try to be the bigger person when she’s involved, I’m not above a tiny bit of retribution,” I chuckled and he smiled at me before turning his eyes back to the road. “What’s with the box of dirt? I’m curious.”

“Because I’m not in Wallachia anymore, I need to rest in soil from my own land,” he explained like it was perfectly logical.

“What happens if you don’t?”

He shrugged.

“I’d rather not find out.”

I frowned.

“Fairly inconvenient, isn’t it? Sleeping on the earth?”

“I don’t sleep in it. Not anymore. I just need it near me when I sleep.”

“But why?”

“It’s one of the rules of the beast,” he said, chuckling. 

I didn’t see how that was funny but he obviously knew something I didn’t. 

When he wasn’t looking at me, it was easy to watch him without feeling like I was doing something improper, so I decided to keep up the conversation.

“Did you travel a lot? Back in Wallachia?” 

I imitated how he said the word and he immediately opened a smile. I tried not to smile back at how delighted he seemed but he must’ve caught me trying to hide it because his smile grew into a full-fledged grin.

“Except when I was traveling to battle, I didn’t really travel as a ruler. It was dangerous to travel and leave my land unguarded. Afterwards, though, I traveled to most of Europe.”

“As a vampire?”

“Yes. But the world’s changed so much, now, I doubt I would recognise all the places I’ve been to.”

“Did you have a favourite?”

“Oh, yes. I spent an entire month in Moscow when I first went there in 1785, I think was the year. Unlike anything I’d ever seen... There was this cathedral there, just stunning. I had to force myself to go in there but I couldn’t leave without seeing what it looked like on the inside.”

“I think it’s pretty famous now. You’re talking about the one that’s all colourful and has crazy shapes, right?”

“That’s the one. We can go there once you're a vampire.”

“Stop saying it like that, it’s disconcerting.” I said, making him glance at me. “You still have to convince me and so far you’re not doing very well.”

He laughed and gooseflesh trailed my skin as if he had touched me.

“Somehow I doubt that but I’ll stop since you asked so nicely.”

I raised my eyebrows, unable to conceal my surprise.

“Well, if I had known it was that easy I would have asked you to leave me alone. But we both know that’s not happening.”

“Depends how nicely you ask me. I might be open to hear you pleading if you fall to your knees.” He gave me a grin that could only be described as naughty. 

I prayed that he couldn’t see me blush under the high-tech lights coming from the BMW’s dashboard but I was deluding myself by entertaining the idea. Not less than 20 minutes ago, I had thought about doing exactly what he had just proposed. I wasn’t telling him that, though.

“Ha-ha. You got jokes.” I said without any humour, fussing with my backpack as if it suddenly felt uncomfortable on my lap. Something popped into my head that made me put my questions about Moscow aside. “How did you come to be a vampire?”

“Ah, that’s not a story for travels.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not a good one.”

“Not everything is made up of good stories.” I shrugged. “I think you’re avoiding the question and I’ll let you slip this time but I’ll ask again some other time. You never know, maybe it’s something that can convince me, Count.”

“Maybe.”

For a moment there I’d forgotten that tomorrow I would have to carry out my plan with Zoe. I’d spoken to him as if we would have all the time in the world. And I almost wished that we would have more time, at least time for him to tell me about Moscow or Romania. Share with me all his experiences that I was curious about. We would spend hours talking freely about what he’d seen and how people changed, how history passed before his eyes; and how could he learn things from a person’s blood, and didn’t he miss discovering secrets by himself? How was his life when he ruled as a prince? And how did it differ from now after centuries had passed? 

With a jolt, I realised I felt a great need to know him down to the bone. Even the worst things about him, and the best, too. Perhaps that would cast a light into what made him so compelling to me or perhaps I just craved listening to him talk. Either way, exploring that was as dangerous as staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

As silence fell, music hailing from the 70s, 80s and 90s filled the car with melodies I knew well enough to hum along. Dracula surprised me by tapping his fingers on the wheel to the rhythm of INXS’s Need You Tonight; he even had a little Queen thrown in there which made me nod in approval. If he was trying to catch up with all the classics he had missed, then he was doing a good job of it. For over an hour stuck in London traffic, we talked about music and he let me connect my phone to his car to show him songs that perhaps weren’t iconic but just as good.

We’d gone from Queen to Billy Idol to Heart to Garbage and finally Nirvana. When I started yawning, Count Dracula changed Heart-Shaped Box for a piano version of Smells Like Teen Spirit. Reminding myself to congratulate him later, I allowed myself to close my eyes for a nap. 

I knew I was dreaming when the piano chords were replaced by the repetitive tone of a music box. 

_The miniature ballerina spun slowly inside the box, forever trapped in dancing to the same old song. A song I knew but couldn’t decipher it on account of sounding distant and off-tune. As I watched, I wondered if she was happy but then laughed at what a silly thought that was. Why would the ballerina be happy? She was just a pretty toy, made precisely for the purpose of dancing in circles whenever someone opened the box._

_I closed the box but the song kept playing, now mixed with the cries of anguish of the ballerina, imprisoned in the haunting darkness of such a small space. My fingers struggled to open the box again, now afraid that I’d suffocated the ballerina but it wouldn’t open. In my battle, it fell to the ground and shattered as if it was made of glass instead of wood. The ballerina was nowhere to be found among the debris but blood pooled around the shards. More blood rose up from the floor as if I’d been standing in it the entire time and coated my bare feet, making me slip as I retreated from it. In my panic, I fell on my back and was quickly engulfed by a sea of blood._

_I started gulping large quantities of blood, smiling at the pleasant taste as I tried to keep myself from drowning. Suddenly, the sea was gone but I wasn’t breathing anymore._

_There was something hard in my mouth and I gnawed at it, trying to find out what it was. Movement beneath made me draw back and I realised, horrified, that I’d been biting Count Dracula’s neck. Mocking laughter drowned all my other senses and I spit his blood from my mouth, noticing that it tasted the same as the sea of blood. I tried to scramble away but he held onto me, his fingers digging hard into my flesh during the struggle._

_“Shhh, shhh. Take me. Do it,” he urged._

_“Take what?!” I swatted at his hands, still trying to get away._

_“All of me,” he responded, snatching my wrists in his grip to stop by blows._

_“That’s impossible.”_

_“Don’t you want me to be yours as you are mine?”_

_His taste was still in my tongue and I frowned, knowing that was the only part of him I would ever possess._

_My lips moved in the dream but I didn’t hear my answer._

_Whether it was yes or no, Dracula’s face transformed into a distorted version of his features. I watched in complacency, too fascinated by staring death in the face to get away. He buried his head in my neck and, as he started to drain me, I looked up at the reddened sky above us with the same ingenuous revere cherubs held in their gazes._

I’m not sure what woke me up; the lack of movement from the car, Tori Amos singing about being crucified or Count Dracula’s voice sounding distant as he talked to someone that wasn’t me. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the dream. If I hadn’t been disturbed, I was certain I would have remained in that dream forever. Nothing significant could have pulled me from the peace I felt when Dracula bit me in the dream, yet there I was, awake and trying to understand why I was sitting alone inside the car parked outside a gas station. 

I quit fiddling with the car’s GPS to find out where we were when the Count’s words reached my ears.

“Because you’re not invited.” He laughed. “No, darling, I’m not neglecting you...” A pause. “Do that and I’ll bite you in a way you won’t enjoy. Stop being childish, Lucy, you know I don’t like it when you act this way.”

Trying to be as quiet as possible so he wouldn’t know I was awake, I slowly turned in the direction of his voice. Dracula had his back to me, a few metres away from the car, standing in the glow of blue neon lights coming from a convenience store. I hoped it was my fertile imagination playing tricks on me but I could swear I heard affection in his tone for a moment there. 

“Who I’m with doesn’t concern you,” he said into the phone, and this time there was only irritation in his voice. “Lucy, Lucy,” he laughed grimly. “This isn’t a relationship, and it never will be.” Another pause. “Yes, I still want you. I’ve got to go now. Goodbye.”

As he turned around, I got out of the car and stretched as if I had just woken up. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said upon laying eyes on me. “I bought you dinner, as promised.” He showed me a brown paper bag in his hand that I hadn’t noticed. 

“How did you know I was hungry?” As if on cue, my stomach growled. “Oh.” I blushed as I took the bag from him, peeking inside. “Oh! Pizza! Thanks.”

“I wanted to stop on the way so you could eat properly inside a restaurant but you slept more than I expected. If I’d waited for you to wake up, there wouldn’t be anything open so I stopped for fuel and went to get you food. I recognise it’s not the best–”

“No, I love pizza,” I cut him off. “Can I sit on top of your car to eat or are you becoming one of those guys who has a crush on his car?”

He answered me by sitting on the hood and patting the spot next to him. The car must have been off for a while because the metal was cold on my butt when I took a seat.

“Where are we?” 

“Oxford,” he said. “An hour away from Gloucester, I think.”

I looked at the block we were in, searching for traces of the medieval architecture Oxford was so famous for but there was nothing special about it; we could just as well have been in London.

“What time is it?” I asked after finishing the first slice of pizza.

“Almost ten.”

“We made it all the way to Oxford in 40 minutes?” I raised my eyebrows and Dracula grinned, looking proud about that. “You can expect speeding fines in your mail during the next few weeks.”

He shrugged, apparently unbothered.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about her?”

I stopped reaching into the bag for another slice of pizza upon fully registering the implications of his question. He knew I’d been listening. Like he’d told Lucy, this wasn’t a relationship and he didn’t owe me an explanation any more than he owed her, but him bringing it up made it seem like I deserved one.

My dream from earlier flashed in mind. Freud only knew what the ballerina in the music box meant but I didn’t need a psychoanalyst to explain what it meant to bite Dracula in my subconscious.

My throat tightened as I thought about what I’d told Dracula in the dream, that it was impossible to have him. But I wanted to, I knew I did. I wanted this part of him, the part that knew I was bothered by him paying attention to someone else and cared enough to check on me, even if he wasn’t subtle about it. I wanted to believe it was the same part of him that had thought about taking me to V&A and broke into the Painted Hall because he’d seen how enthusiastic I was about it. The part of him that carried me to bed and laughed at me when I mumbled nonsensical phrases. 

I wanted something that wasn’t real. Something that I would never have because at this time tomorrow I would be injecting him with Zoe’s blood. And because it wasn’t real, I could play along for a little while.

“What’s to ask? It’s pretty obvious that you’re feeding from her.”

“Don’t play coy, Y/N, just ask me.”

“Fine. Are you fucking her?”

“No.”

I’d braced for a confirmation but his reply made my courtroom face fall apart. I scrutinised his face but nothing came to the surface.

“Really? It sounded a hell lot like you are.”

“I have fucked her but I haven’t made a habit out of it. Lucy is awfully… needy.”

It occurred to me that this was the first time I’d heard him swear and I had to purse my lips not to laugh like a nervous teen. Maybe it was the f-bomb that made me want to burst into laughter, or the sudden joy I’d felt when he called Lucy needy with obvious exasperation.

“Will you make her a vampire?” I continued since he was granting me the freedom to ask.

“Yes.”

“Does she want to be one?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have to convince her like you’re trying to do with me?”

“No.”

“Then why–” I exhaled “–do you still want me if you can have her?”

“Lucy is fun and wild and she wants to die but she doesn’t understand. You do.”

I frowned.

“Understand what?”

“What it takes to live forever.” He grinned but there was no humour in his eyes; I found a sliver of heat in his gaze, though. “Your pizza is getting cold.”

Dracula slid off the hood, like that was the end of the subject and I stalked after him, ignoring my pizza. He started rounding the car towards the driver’s side and I grabbed the back of his jacket to make him stop.

“What does that mean?” I questioned as he turned to look at me. This time his smile was slow, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes.

“The fact that you don’t know what I’m talking about only solidifies my beliefs about you.”

“Being cryptic isn’t helpful,” I snapped. 

“I’m not trying to be helpful.”

“Well, try!”

He took a step towards me and held my face in his hands. The shape of his lips distracted me and it took me a second to register his next words.

“From the start you’ve asked me for a reason to live forever. Don’t you think that means you value more than simply existing as you do now?”

“No. It’s just logical,” I countered, although I was suddenly frowning. “People don’t usually make big choices like this on impulse, you know? Of course I needed a reason.”

“Of course,” he repeated sarcastically.

“I don’t know what it takes to live forever!” I protested, flailing my arms.

I waited to see if he would contradict me but he just stared at me, eyes filled with mockery and confidence that served to further aggravate my mood.

“I barely know what it takes to live this life I’m living, how could I possibly fathom eternal life?” I continued, speaking so fast I could barely understand myself. I carried on when he didn’t reply, “Have I considered it since my deal with you? Of course I have, kinda hard not to but, but– I don’t know! I don’t know what I want! Or or or– how! How can I just give up everything and live forever? I’ve built things, things that I’m proud of, things that matter! And you want me to give them up! For you!”

Rambling wasn’t something I was used to and I forced myself to stop. Every word that came out of my mouth was usually carefully calculated to persuade a jury but this was my life and there was nobody to persuade, so why did it sound like I was trying to do just that?

“What matters in this life that could make me want to live forever?” My voice was so tiny that I scarcely heard my words. 

Suddenly I was literally swept off my feet and before I knew it, Dracula’s lips were on mine and I forgot all the things I was so confused about. 

My eyes shut into the kiss and my breath left me like my lungs had stopped working. Heart beating so fast I could feel it fluttering inside my chest, I wrapped my arms around him in senseless thought as our tongues met, sending sizzles all throughout my nerve endings. As soon as it had started, it was over, and I was standing with my feet on the ground again, body screaming in abandonment because Dracula’s hands weren’t touching me.

“What was that for?” I asked, trembling like I was cold.

“You were being emotional and looked like you were about to cry,” he said, stepping back from me and looking indifferent to what he’d just done as he ran his hands through his hair. “A kiss seemed like a good idea to stop that from happening.”

“That was a terrible idea.” 

“But it cleared your head,” he assured.

It did but it didn’t solve anything.

Looking at him suddenly became a challenge because I knew that at any second I could throw myself headfirst at this, despite the danger, despite feeling like I shouldn’t… All I wanted in that second was to not think and to drown in his kiss again. 

Instead, I turned my back on him and grabbed the brown bag from the car’s hood on my way to the passenger’s side.

“Let’s just go,” I told him, stealing one last glance at him. He was watching me with the same fascination he had when gazing at the Painted Hall but when I blinked, his face went back to that sarcastic mask he always wore. “We’re halfway to Gloucester.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta reader gave me a few suggestions and it's truly something that's been bugging me, so I decided it would be better to check with you guys, my readers. I'm writing this story purely for fun so I don't mind changing things.  
> I'm not well versed in writing Character x reader stories and I'll admit the whole concept sometimes escapes me (ahem, fully does) and my beta pointed out that it's become an OC x Dracula fic.  
> This chapter in particular touches into something that may upset some people if they're really invested into the reader POV, which is religion. You may not agree with the reader's thoughts regarding christianity, and I don't want to needle anyone's beliefs because this is a reader insert. My question is: would you guys prefer if I gave the reader a name, in which case she becomes a fully realised character? I'll still avoid describing her because then you can picture her however you like.  
> Longwinded question, I know, but I thought it deserved some explanation.
> 
> On a more positive note, I made two spotify playlists; one is oriented towards alternative songs (mostly) and the other one is purely made up of classical pieces.  
> Alternative - https://spoti.fi/3bCKDrS  
> Classical - https://spoti.fi/326vEDv
> 
> Regardless, ENJOYYYY

* * *

The rest of the trip would have been completely silent if it wasn’t for Portishead’s music. 

I barely looked at Dracula as he dropped me off at the Airbnb I had rented. He parted with a promise to meet me at the wedding tomorrow and an indifferent goodbye, although when I made it all the way to the flat’s second floor, his car was still parked at the front door. When I turned around to throw my backpack on the bed and looked out the window again, the black BMW was gone.

Not even the wide array of DVD stacks inside the Airbnb managed to keep my mind off of Dracula.

After settling in and having a shower, I occupied myself with sitting in front of the TV in the living room and analysing the owner’s collection – an impressive one at that – however, when I picked up a copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show I could almost hear Count Dracula laughing as I sang along to Frank N Furter and immediately put the disc back to where it belonged. So I chose something harmless to watch.

As Mulder and Scully bickered about aliens on the television in another episode of The X-Files – really, props to the Airbnb owner for supplying his entire collection to guests – I glanced at my phone for the hundredth time. 

Would Count Dracula be a Scully or a Mulder? Such a silly thing to wonder about, nevertheless I was curious about it. Perhaps if he was here with me, watching TV and making his remarks about what was going on, I would manage to concentrate on the episode playing. 

It had worked out fine last time. Well, for the most part. As long as we didn’t watch anything with sexual undertones such as Interview with the Vampire, I would be fine. For how long, was the question.

I frowned as I rewinded the last 10 minutes on the DVD player. Scully was lying in a hospital bed while Mulder screamed at a doctor when just two minutes ago Mulder had been talking to their boss. Obviously, I had missed more than two minutes, too stuck in my thoughts about the Count.

I glanced at my phone again. 

He’d be gone tomorrow. And I needed to know if he would like Scully or Mulder better.

I took my phone between shaky fingers.

A small part of me, one that was still thinking straight, suggested that maybe I shouldn’t do this on account of that kiss earlier. But nothing of what had happened during that trip mattered anymore, not when I would never see him again. Whatever I did today would have no consequences.

> **Are you there?**

Count Dracula replied just as Mulder screamed at the doctor, and I still had no idea why.

> **Yes.**

I typed a message as quickly as I could before I regretted this.

> **I can’t sleep.**

I chewed on my lip as I waited for a response but when none came, I started typing another text and then erased it. Inviting him over might develop into less innocent things than simply watching TV. 

I curled my toes. I came this far. I resisted him this long. There was no reason to jump ship at the last second. 

Tomorrow he’d be carted away by the Foundation and while I would very much like to do more than kiss Count Dracula, the idea of giving myself to him and then never feeling his touch again seemed unbearable. 

> **Do you want to take a stroll through Gloucester?**
> 
> **I’ll be there in a few minutes.**

His reply came so quick that he must have been staring at his phone, waiting for me to send another text.

I rushed to change from pyjamas into jeans, jacket and boots. I had just finished fixing up how I looked when my phone buzzed. Without bothering to read the text, I left the flat, heart beating like a hummingbird’s as I went down the stairs to the building’s front door. 

Count Dracula wore the same leather jacket as earlier, waiting for me just as he had waited hours ago in London.

“Did you walk all the way here?” I asked as soon as I noticed the BMW’s absence.

“I was in the neighbourhood.” He smiled.

“Exploring?”

He smirked but said nothing.

“Eating, then,” I concluded. “Drinking, sorry. I forgot you get stuck in the technicalities.”

“You get used to it,” he said, extending a hand for me. 

I gasped when I placed my hand on his. Someone else’s blood had made his temperature rise from cadaveric cold to match my own but I was too fascinated by how plump his flesh felt to care about an unknown person’s death. 

“You don’t feel like a statue,” I said, squeezing his hand to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.

“You get used to it,” he repeated. “Come. I found a lovely place to break into.”

He pulled me to him so fast that my stomach lurched. I almost lost balance but he wrapped an arm around my shoulders to steady me. 

“May I remind you that I’m human and next time you do this I might throw up in your shoes?” 

My vision was still swimming and I had to lean my body on his until I could see properly. 

“I’ll warn you next time.”

I craned my neck to look up at him, noticing absently that I had my arms around him in a hug. Light coming from a neighbouring house glowed behind his head likening a saint’s halo. Horns would be more suitable, and more alluring. 

“Will I like this place you intend to take me?” 

“More than I will,” he said, securing me in an inescapable hold, one I had no desire to fight. “It’s a cathedral.”

“Gloucester Cathedral?” I loosened my arms around him. “It’s a holy place,” I said and he cocked an eyebrow. “Can you even set foot in there?”

He snorted.

“I can waltz with you in there while reciting biblical verses as long as I don’t look upon the cross.” 

“I’d like to see that. A healthy dose of blasphemy is always fun.”

A slow smile spread on his lips.

“Then you’ll love it.”

To my dismay, he untangled himself from me but still kept an arm around my shoulders in a half embrace. Instead of avoiding him, I circled his waist with my arm, basking on how uncharacteristically warm he felt in comparison to the chilly night. 

Dracula looked at me with furrowed eyebrows, though a grin creeped on his mouth. For the first time, we had exchanged roles – he, doubtful that I was so willing to touch him, and I, sure of what I was doing ever since I struck that deal. 

Pity it wouldn’t last long.

“Lead the way,” I told him. 

* * *

Except for a couple of stray cats and a dog, Count Dracula and I were the only ones wandering through Gloucester’s narrow streets and quaint façades. The moon was hidden but with how bright it glowed, even beneath a swath of cotton clouds, I would guess it was full. 

I relied more on Count Dracula’s eyes than on the unsteady old street lights that seemed to hail from the 18th century, but I didn’t need his vampire eyes to catch a glimpse of a towering Gothic building, concealed behind a row of modern restaurants and stores, all closed now that it was closer to dawn than to dusk, wedged inside small houses stylised in Tudor architecture. 

“Here we are,” said Dracula just as we rounded the corner and faced Gloucester Cathedral.

It was an enormous and monstrous thing yet beautiful all the same in all its complicated detail of spiking roofs and pointed narrow glass that composed huge windows amongst blocks of stone. Sculptures of saints and kings stood watch at the front, arching above the intricately woven entrance. 

“Is there an alarm this time?” I asked as we approached the door. 

“What for? Christians trust their god to keep it safe. There is someone sleeping inside, though. A priest if I had to guess, so we’ll have to be very quiet.”

“There goes my plan,” I said, although I had none. No space for calculated words and carefully measured tone there. All I had left was impulsivity, and saying things without really meaning them provided me with a rush unlike any other. 

“What plan is that?” Dracula questioned, side-eyeing me.

I shrugged.

“What does it matter if I can’t be noisy now?” I snickered. I would have tried being reckless more often if I’d known I would earn so many bewildered looks from Count Dracula. “Open the door.” I bidded, staring at him. “Please?”

Something crossed his gaze, something that made me wish that he would press me against a wall and demand that I tell him about my sordid plan. But he did no such thing.

“Since you asked nicely,” he said, just as he had done earlier during our trip.

Dracula forced the door open with the same ease I would have opened an unlocked door.

My mouth was a little dry but the thrill of doing something forbidden still made my heart thud, despite the fear of being caught. Perhaps I’d been developing a new habit of doing dangerous things such as making deals with vampires, and getting excited at the prospect of desecrating a church with one. I would have to find a substitute to that after he was gone but I couldn’t think of anything that could compare. 

I followed Count Dracula into the cathedral’s nave. 

The massive round pillars surrounding the aisle took away some of the simplicity of the ribbed vaulting, which derived from early Gothic architecture if I remembered my art classes correctly. There weren’t any pews positioned in usual rows as most churches did, and from where I stood I couldn’t spot an altar. The place seemed bare without them but it was still imposing, as most religious things were, I supposed.

The ground's yellowed stone, that one day may have been white, was dappled with a luminescence of blue, red and purple. I whirled around, looking up to find out where that variety of colours came from, and grinned upon finding a stained glass window that extended all the way up to the ceiling. 

“I never liked churches as a child,” I whispered to Dracula, ignoring that he probably knew it. “They creeped me out. I couldn’t understand how some people felt love inside them, when all I felt was judgement. And like I was being watched by saints, angels and Jesus.” I grimaced as I admired the pictures on the glass. Saints looked back at me with their saintly stare. Jesus Christ was pictured at the centre pane. “My parents weren’t very religious but my grandmother was one of those fervent catholics, full of guilt and fear. She used to take me to mass every other Sunday at Westminster Abbey until one time when I started arguing with the priest during his sermon about how illogical the bible is at some points.” I glanced at Dracula and saw him chuckling soundlessly. “I was 13. My grandmother was so humiliated and angry at me that she never took me to mass again.”

“And you were relieved to never have to go back again,” Dracula supplied. “How do you like churches now?”

“I like them as long as I’m just visiting. And I’m not scared of them anymore, not since I won that argument with the priest.” I looked at him. He was making a point of observing the rest of the church instead of gazing at the stained glass as I was. “You were raised christian, too. And if Wikipedia is right, you fought in the name of God.”

“In another life.” He bobbed his head, lacing his hands behind his back as he wandered down the aisle. “Not the foolish, gullible and fearful catholic as Justina was.” Dracula cast a brief glance at me. “My late wife.” He explained but I had already surmised as much. 

Since he had mentioned her without my needing to ask, I felt the urge to goad him with more questions. The urge to see that odd semblance of grief in his face as I had seen weeks ago. The reminder that he was capable of emotion, still. But I left it alone. It was possible he would shut down and assume that distant and impenetrable façade, and then our last date would be over much faster than I was ready for it to be.

“No, you were more the type to rip people to shreds when they didn’t condone your faith.” I lowered my voice mid sentence when my words echoed. 

Following him down the aisle, I noticed that a big apparatus was raised up in a wooden structure ahead of us and it looked like an organ. Had we been alone at the church, I would have climbed up the stairs to knead a few keys just to hear the resounding, spine-chilling noise it would make. 

“Precisely.” Dracula laughed.

“Did you ever do it for fun?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you did.”

He turned around, stopping at the centre of the aisle a few metres away from me. 

“For fun, for boredom, but most of all to instill fear into my enemies’ hearts. Does it still bother you?”

I stopped.

It had when I first found out about it. And although he had just admitted torturing people simply for the fun of it, it didn’t bother me nearly as much as before. I ought to have been disgusted or disapproving, at the very least. It was a little worrying that I didn’t feel any of those things, like I had just discovered a part of me that was capable of terrible cruelty.

“No,” I said. “Not anymore.”

Dracula’s grin was all teeth as if that answer was everything he had been longing to hear. 

“You’re not nervous tonight.” He was still grinning. “You’re usually nervous around me.”

“Usually,” I agreed, smirking. 

Was this how it felt? Not having to worry, not caring about what could happen, not being cautious about every little thing, not minding that he had done horrible deeds and I still wanted his lips on mine?

This foreign feeling swelled inside my chest and my smirk became a grin. 

“Let’s see the rest of the place,” I said, beckoning him with my hand. “There is a door back there and I think I saw something interesting.”

I didn’t wait to see if he would follow and simply turned around, heading to my right where I had seen a long corridor dappled with more colourful light from stained glass. Through an arched portal, I could see the extent of the corridor but it still didn’t prepare me when I crossed the threshold. 

What I thought was only one corridor, was actually two positioned in an L-shape and I stood at the cusp of both. Elaborate lines composed patterns on the vaulted ceiling and walls, fanning into long and curved designs etched in stone and ending in what resembled flowers. Light poured from a collection of stained glass windows and with the way each corridor bent at their ends, I supposed the structure continued until it formed a rectangular. I squinted past a clear glass on a windowpane, and smiled. I could make out shapes of trees and what looked to be a fountain outside. These weren’t corridors but covered walks surrounding a square. Westminster Abbey had something similar.

“Gorgeous,” whispered Dracula.

I turned around to see what he was admiring. His stare was fixed on me, and I had a feeling it had been the same way when he spoke. He moved towards me and the stained glass bathed his face in red. Dracula placed one of my hands on his shoulder and took the other one into his own, extending our joined hands up in a dancing stance.

“I’ll step on your feet,” I warned as he splayed a hand on my back. “I’m not a good dancer.”

“I’ll teach you. Waltzing is easy, and I told you we would waltz.”

In a hushed voice as to not wake whoever slept inside the cathedral, Count Dracula instructed me how, his knees touching mine ever so slightly to point me in the correct direction as I stared down at our feet rasping on the floor, his hands pushing and tugging gently as we swayed to silence. 

After a little while, I felt confident enough not to step on his feet, although I had done it a few times during his lesson, and looked up at his face. We were both a mess of colours and blurry features clouded in darkness as we danced out and into the stained glass light. The air was so chilly that my lungs burned with the effort of dancing, his hand so unrealistically warm on mine as we danced pointlessly – it was surreal, and filled me with an unusual melancholy that I wouldn’t experience something like that again and happiness because I had let myself experience it.

“I dare not ask for love–” Dracula’s words cut through the silence and I drew a sharp intake of breath for what he was about to say. His next words were accompanied by the cadence people used to recite something, which removed some of the impact of what he had first said and I relaxed. 

“ _I dare not ask for love – with all_

_My many sins, both great and small,_

_I am perhaps of love unworthy!_

_But if feigned love, if you would_

_Pretend, you’d easily deceive me,_

_For happily would I, believe me,_

_Deceive myself if but I could._ ”

I held my breath halfway throughout but continued to dance. The mention of love completely escaped me when he spoke of deceit and I could not help but wonder if he suspected me of it. Did he know I was leading him on and did not care? Or did he know about me and Zoe and this was just a fancy way of telling me so? My heart raced. I hoped he took it not as panic but exhilaration instead.

“Is that in the bible?” I asked in a shaky voice.

“It’s Pushkin. I’ve been reading Russian literature again, old and new and it’s stuck in my head. Pushkin remains a favourite of mine and Anna Akhmatova is a close second from the new generation. Well, old generation, for you.” He chuckled. “The Pushkin stanza sounds better in Russian. Most things sound better in Russian,” he said in an even voice. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he recited the verses in Russian, and although I understood none of it, it did sound better. “This, however, is from the bible. I don’t remember from which book but I remember that I liked it when I was human. I’m translating directly from Latin, though, because that’s how I studied the bible, so I’m taking a few liberties here to make it sound better, and less ridiculously holy. It goes like this: _Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame_.”

“It could very well be Pushkin,” I offered. 

“It could. Ironically, I prefer these verses more than Pushkin’s.” He laughed lightly and I fully relaxed. He sounded like himself, not at all as if he knew something he wasn’t supposed to. 

I did wonder, though, why he chose those verses out of anything else to declaim. Pushkin was a hopeless romantic through and through from what I had read of him. Of Anna I knew little but what I did know spoke of bitterness, death and failed, tragic love. Why suddenly speak of love? He could’ve quoted something else from the bible. Perhaps something to do with Samson and Delilah, since we had joked about it in the past. Anything else would have made more sense, even the parts that made no sense at all and had driven me to argue with a priest years ago.

Was Count Dracula attempting to **_tell_ ** me something? No. Couldn’t be. He was as forward as one could be. And the idea of him feeling anything remotely close to love seemed a little silly. 

He had loved Justina; more than he thought he was capable of, he’d said. But that had been centuries ago in another life. 

For a moment my determination in being reckless faltered and I felt at loss for what to say. 

Dracula let go of me briefly to spin me around in a move I wasn’t as deftly trained in as he was, causing me to squeal at the velocity and trip over my feet. I thought I would fall but he caught me and started moving again in the waltz pattern he had taught me. Laughter bubbled up to my throat in my hurry to catch up with him and the sound of it was amplified by the long walls. Dracula’s laughter joined mine until it became a song for which we danced.

 _It doesn’t matter, nothing matters._ I thought as I gazed up at him. _He’ll be gone and whatever I say doesn’t matter anymore. I can entertain even the wildest of things because they’ll never happen. Nothing will happen, for the rest of time._

“I’ve got one for you,” I breathed as we spun in a dizzying pace. “ _The Devil’s hands directs our every move; the things we loathed become the things we love._ ” It didn’t come out nearly as expertly as his declamation but I was out of breath, spinning and spinning as he commanded. Like a ballerina in a music box. Dracula simply stared at me, the corners of his lips in their own fight of tugging upwards or downwards. “It’s Baudelaire. Have you read it?” I wasn’t sure if I saw him shake his head. Suddenly, we were dancing so fast that I could barely see my surroundings, much less his face. “I know Baudelaire as you know the bible, only the parts that matter, but I know them from heart. There’s one phrase that I particularly relate to, especially now.” I gulped as if I was looking down a cliff. “ _What can an eternity_ –”

Dracula stopped abruptly and I gasped, strands of my hair landing on my face as my head reeled at suddenly being motionless. The world still whirled around and I swayed on my feet as if I had forgotten how to keep myself standing up still, but the Count’s grasp kept me in place. 

Interrupting our dance, I realised not a second later, was for the best. I’d been about to quote something very dangerous, something that could land me with both feet on a grave for all eternity with Count Dracula. And I would’ve said it out of sheer wickedness, just because I was tempted about what could happen if I broke a few rules. 

I looked up at his face, heart teetering on the verge of stopping in fear of what I would find in his expression. But Dracula wasn’t paying attention to me. His eyes were focusing past my head. And then I heard it. Footsteps.

Our laughter must have woken up whoever had been sleeping inside the cathedral.

“ **_What_ ** **-?** ” A male voice drifted from behind me, sounding panicked and angry. “You can’t be here at this hour!”

“Shit,” I whispered to Dracula. “What now?”

He gave me a lopsided grin.

“This is your warning,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice now that we had been caught. I had time to frown at his reply before both of Dracula’s arms pulled me into an embrace, my feet swinging beneath me. I emitted a sound of surprise but didn’t struggle. “Hold on and please try not to throw up on my shoes, they’re rather expensive.”

I had one valuable second to wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest before we moved faster than I thought was possible. My insides tossed inside of me, suddenly demanding for a way out of my body’s cage. I kept my eyes closed the entire time, too frightened of opening them. I had never gone on a roller coaster ride but I supposed the feeling was similar. 

Gusts of wind assailed my hair and threatened to steal the breath out of my lungs. I was afraid the feeling would last forever until we finally stopped and I landed on safe ground.

“You can let go now, Y/N.”

“Can you give me a second?” I mumbled, eyes still shut. “I think my soul is still trying to find a way back into my body.”

Dracula’s laughter tickled my ear and I tightened my hold on him. He did, too, his fingers pressing gently on the flesh of my back. Slowly, as if in a limp, my senses caught up with me and my stomach settled on what felt like an appropriate position. 

I opened my eyes tentatively and turned my head to the side. Startled, I realised he had brought me all the way from Gloucester Cathedral to the street where my Airbnb rental was located. And he’d done it in a span of two minutes, if not less. 

I tipped my head to look at him, resting my cheek on the cold of his leather jacket. Dracula’s eyes were closed, sets of black eyelashes casting soft shadows on his face, and he was breathing steadily. Not because he needed to, I presumed, but because he was taking in my scent. My lips tugged up automatically; it was odd perceiving that as something sweet but I did. 

His throat moved, drawing my attention. A most devilish thought occurred to me and before I gave myself too much time to dwell on it, I stretched up and nibbled at the skin of his neck. It lasted no more than five seconds but the sound that came out of Dracula would be seared into my memory forever. Raw, rapturous, and chilling at the same time. Satisfied, I let go of him, but he didn’t let go of me. Too fast for me to react, he took my hands and placed them where they had been, and then trapped me into his embrace again.

I had just blurred some very important lines with what I had just done, and yet part of me only cared about the thrill of it.

“Your scar has faded,” he said, and my heart hammered madly. A hand delved into my hair, grabbing a mass of it to expose my neck. “You didn’t really think you could get away with what you just did, did you?”

“Not really. But if you bite me without my consent, then the deal is off.”

“And I have no intention of breaking my word. Don’t think of this as reprisal. It’s more of a gift, such as you’ve just given me.”

Dracula bent his head slowly towards my bare neck, like he was giving me time to protest. I remained silent. It was imprudent, this need to know what he would do, but I wanted to garner every possibility of my time with him to cherish in my heart, forever. And the uncertainty of it made me all the more excited. I stared up at the sky and then his lips touched my throat where he had bitten me, softly, so very softly. And then again, not softly at all. Riveting pleasure sparked to life as if the scar was still fresh and I choked on my breath. Dull teeth nibbled the skin there and a flash of pulsating warmth coursed down my chest and back, spreading gradually in the same way spilled blood spread on the ground: trying to encompass everything in its wake, tainting it with inevitable appeal and fear of what it meant. I held on to Dracula forcefully, more forcefully than one would judge to be adequate, and he laughed against my skin before giving it a long lick. 

“Careful,” he whispered in my ear. “I may interpret your willingness as consent. And I know you well enough to know you won’t give it to me easily. Will you?”

“No.” The word was automatic and I thanked the part of me that still harboured a sense of self-preservation above my heedless desire for him. However, I still leaned all of my weight on him and made no attempt to put distance between us, as I should’ve. “Not easily at all.”

Dracula, showing way more restraint than I had all night, disentangled my hair from his fingers and stepped back. It took everything in me not to launch myself into his arms again but I let my hands drop to my sides.

“You’re dangerous,” he accused.

“Not as much as you are.”

“A different kind of dangerous.” He licked his lips. Could he taste my skin in his mouth? 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is one.”

I smiled. Being called dangerous filled me with power. Power over him. I was delighted for only a second before wondering if he would think the same thing tomorrow when I stuck a needle with sickly blood in him.

“The cathedral was a good idea,” I said. “Defiling a church has always been in my to-do list, plus I learned how to waltz. So thank you for that.” I sighed. “I should really go to bed now, and so should you. Isn’t the sun almost coming up?”

He nodded. 

“Before you go–” he looked behind me with obvious disdain at the building I was staying at and then back at me “–what were you quoting before the priest came upon us?”

I gulped.

“I don’t remember.”

He narrowed his eyes, shifting closer.

“You’re lying. I thought we had established that you don’t lie to me.”

“You established that.” I stepped back, conjuring a cheeky smile. “I didn’t.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll regret it,” I admitted. “And I prize my sleep. I prefer not to go to bed with a heavy heart.”

He stared at me for a long moment and I waited under his scrutiny, doing my very best to keep it together.

“Tomorrow, then,” he finally said. “Tell me tomorrow.”

But I wouldn’t tell him tomorrow. I would tell him nothing at all. 

“Okay. Goodnight, Dracula.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

As I laid my head on the pillow that night, I realised I still didn’t know if Dracula would like Scully or Mulder better. And would never know.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late again. I'll stop apologising because it's getting a little out of hand.
> 
> Aaand the reader will remain nameless. I realised most people prefer that way.  
> _  
> Everyone take a deep breath...and go.

* * *

“Just pick one, Mal,” I complained. “They all look the same, anyway.”

Mallory fixed her green eyes on me with a sour face through the boutique’s mirror, where she had been modeling pairs of shoes for the last hour. This was the sixteenth pair, by my count, and she had reserved 4 other pairs to pick from, which she “absolutely adored and would look fantastic with other outfits”. The shop assistant was waiting by the pairs of shoes, a tiny smile frozen on her lips in pretend amity or perhaps thinking about how fat of a commission she’d earn on account of Mal’s shopaholic tendencies. 

Two years had gone without much talk between Mal and I, and I found that a few things hadn’t changed: her proclivity for spending incredible amounts of money in clothes and her forgetfulness. The last of which landed me in a Gloucester boutique with her because she’d forgotten to pack high-heels for the wedding. She’d called me earlier and invited me to have lunch with her and then go shopping. Upon finding a store that appealed to her taste, though, she forced me into the store with sweet promises of delicious food later. My stomach grumbled like it was angry at me for having agreed to it.

“I’d forgotten how much of a pain in the arse you become when you’re hungry,” Mallory said as she flopped next to me on the canape where I sat. I shot her an annoyed look and she giggled as she started undoing straps around her ankles. “I’ll pay for your desert!” Instantly, I opened a large grin. And she chuckled. “Glad to see your sweet tooth remained intact.” 

My grin widened to a more genuine one. Mallory and I still had a lot to catch up when it came to our friendship but it wouldn’t be too much work, not when an easy sense of familiarity permeated our banter. 

My complaint was enough to make Mallory decide and pay. It wasn’t much of a decision because she still paid for three pairs of shoes. Earlier, when she’d tried on the tenth pair I pointed out that she only needed one pair of shoes for the wedding but she shrugged it off, so I knew it was pointless to tell her again. How she would fit those new additions into her suitcase, and her closet back in London, was her problem. 

Once we were out of the boutique, Mallory still looking forlornly at a pair on the display that was too expensive even for her, the bright sun of midday hit our eyes, making both of us blink in surprise. Clearly the hour we spent cooped inside a store was enough for England’s weather to shift out of sorts. 

Considering the unlikely sun and the pleasant temperature, we chose a restaurant that had tables on the outside where we could bask in the sunlight and watch the influx of people walking towards Gloucester Cathedral. From where I sat, I could only see part of it but towers peaked a couple of roads over, providing a glimpse of how big the structure sprawled. It looked like an entirely different place during the day. Not at all spooky and mysterious as it had appeared the past night. Watching a group of nuns filing past me towards the cathedral, I smiled, wondering how horrified they would be if the priest shared with them about the encounter he’d had. I’m sure there would be tales about the two creatures dancing and then vanishing in the blink of an eye, and how it would be ascribed to either devils or angels making their presence known. Oddly, I wished for the first.

“What are you smirking about?” Mallory asked in her best teasing tone.

“Nothing,” I said, archly. 

“Uh-huh.” 

She didn’t have any more time to tease me because a waiter came to our table with menus. To the surprise of nobody, after a show of reading the entire menu, Mallory chose fish and chips and a glass of white wine. It was a trustworthy dish in any part of England, she always said, but it was also her favourite. I, for once, was more adventurous and chose baked lamb with garlic accompanied by sautéed potatoes, onions and aubergines. I saved myself from alcohol. I would need it later, for courage, I told myself. And also for the tinge of regret casting pinpricks on my heart.

“So,” Mallory began, swirling the white wine on her glass as we waited for our food. “Do you have a date for tonight?”

“Yes,” I replied simply, taking a few gulps of my water.

“And…?” She prodded.

“You tell me yours first,” I said. If I could bargain with her and she mentioned someone I knew, perhaps I would have a chance to get back at the teasing that was sure to come.

“Sean Larkin. The lean blond from the adjoining finance firm?” She sighed. “He wanted me to have lunch with him today but I waved him off. I’m saving myself for the wedding.” She wiggled her eyebrows conspiratorially. As if Mallory would save **_anything_ ** for marriage.

“Isn’t he too young by your standards?”

“He’s older than me by a couple of years,” she retorted. “And look who’s talking about age standards! Didn’t you hook up with Ethan Prescott, our ethics professor, **_inside_ **his office?”

“That was you, Mal.” I snickered at the blank look on her face. “Have you checked for Alzheimers with a doctor?”

“Oh, quit it.” She laughed into her glass, fogging it with her breath, before taking a sip. “My memory is completely fine. My body count is the problem. Now it’s your turn.” 

“Maybe you don’t remember him but you know when last week you and I were supposed to go to Camden–”

“Oh my god, it’s the BMW guy!” She squealed. Her wine swung dangerously to the cup’s edges and she set the glass on the table. “Y/N, he’s your client.”

“Is not,” I countered, smiling impishly. It felt like college all over again when we would talk endlessly about boys during the early morning hours in our room. “He’s Renfield’s client. I’m just filling in for him while he’s away.”

“I bet you’re the one being filled–”

“Jesus, Mal!”

“What!” She threw her hands up in defense. “It’s just obvious you two are, you know, doing the deed.”

Clearly, Mallory also managed to preserve her crass manners when it came to guy-talk but still kept a strict rule over swearing. Figures.

“We’re not.”

She stared at me, open-mouthed.

“But but… You said he was yours. What– **_why_ ** not?”

“Because he’s not exactly the ideal person in mind to have as a romantic interest,” I said with a shrug. 

“Well, is he nice?”

I considered it, chewing on my cheeks. 

“Sometimes. Most of the time,” I corrected, wondering if my response could be linked to a case of Stockholm’s Syndrome. Perhaps I should suggest it be renamed Wallachia’s Syndrome. “But he’s in a tireless pursuit to, well, seduce me, for a lack of a better word, so of course he’s nice to me. But is he a nice person? No.”

“In what sense?”

In the sense of murdering people because he was bored, in the sense of enslaving my mentor and giving me no choice whether I want to be like him or not.

“He’s just not a nice person, Mal,” I explained poorly. “Believe me.”

“Okay. But do you like **_him_ ** despite that?”

I drew a big breath, shutting my eyes against the harsh sunlight. A veil of red coated my vision behind my eyelids and I thought of the red in Count Dracula’s eyes. A slight prickling on my neck reminded me of his mouth brushing the skin there before closing over it. The bond liked him, I knew that but I couldn’t explain it to Mallory.

“You know when you drink wine with an empty stomach?” I asked when I opened my eyes. She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “No, white wine is too light. Red wine, specifically. It’s like that being around him.” Mallory didn’t seem to understand, and neither was I making a lot of sense to myself, so I continued. “Everything feels a little numb and a little too hot, like I’m feverish. My lips, the tips of my fingers, my legs. And there’s a queasy feeling on my stomach, that’s not all bad, you know. It’s thrilling and also frightening,” I scoffed. “And I have the most outlandish thoughts when I’m around him. I can see myself doing things I would never do, and have done quite a few of them, actually. It’s bizarre. Like I’m drunk but not really.”

And much like wine, the bond made me do and feel things that weren’t real. Although one could argue that alcohol brought our truest selves to the surface. I shuddered at the thought.

“So you like him?” Mallory questioned, looking uncertain.

“I like how he makes me feel. And I guess I do like him, to an extent. But he scares me, Mal, he really does. And I shouldn’t like him if he scares me.”

“Has he hurt you?” She asked slowly, trying to sound gentle, I guessed, but it came out more like a snarl.

“Not really, no. Not physically. Emotionally, though, a little bit.” Seeing the somber expression on Mal’s face, I waved a hand. “Nothing to worry about, I can take care of myself. That’s beside the point. He frightens me, is all.”

“Maybe it’s not fear of him, Y/N. Maybe that queasy feeling is just fear of letting go. You were always a bit of a control freak when it came to your emotions.”

“I guess that hasn’t changed,” I muttered. “Can I have a sip of that?” I held a hand towards her wine glass.

She pushed it across the table for me. Cold, soothing liquid washed through my tongue and I swallowed it down eagerly. When I returned the glass to Mallory, less than half of it remained.

“Some sip,” she remarked.

“I needed it.”

She bobbed her head in agreement and a strand of baby blond hair escaped from her braid, coming to rest over one of her eyes. She blew it away and it fluttered behind her ear.

Our food arrived and I was glad to have something to concentrate on instead of what I felt or did not feel. 

Mallory was kind enough to change the subject as we ate, so we spoke mostly of Sean, her date. They had been seeing each other for only two weeks and she was still determined into finding anything fun about him but so far she was unsuccessful. While Mal was too benign to say it, I knew Sean would be fated into following her around like a puppy until she found someone else to amuse her. Next, we spoke of Evelyn and to my surprise, and secret enjoyment, Mal didn’t seem to favour her anymore that I thought the woman deserved.

“I thought you were friends,” I said as I stole another sip of her wine.

“I thought so, too, but she’s become such a **_hag_ **lately. I think it’s because she found out I have a higher score of winnings in court than her but that shouldn’t get in the way. I mean, you’ve got us all beat and you don’t see me hassling you. She just can’t admit she’s not the best at everything she does. And she didn’t invite me to be a bridesmaid, can you believe that?!”

“Bitch,” I said as a form of agreement.

“Cheers to that.”

After we finished with our lunch, I ordered a piece of blueberry pie, which I ate with Mallory’s help since I’d been sipping on her wine all throughout our meal.

We said our goodbyes not long after that. Mallory had to rush back to Berkeley, where she was staying with Chelsea and Sarah, because she hoped to be the first one to shower. According to Mal, Chelsea spent an eternity in the bathroom and wouldn’t let up even if she and Sarah almost broke the door down with all their knocking. 

I watched as Mallory drove away in her car, almost hoping that we could remain stuck in that afternoon for longer, only so I wouldn’t have to think about the incoming night and the certainty that my heart would break, bond or no bond. 

At least now I would have Mal to help me pick up the pieces and mend them back together.

* * *

Soft, orange clouds streaked the purplish sky in long and haphazard puffs as I waded down the slope leading to Berkeley Castle. It looked more like a fortress than a castle with how it circumvented a courtyard. Small windows decorated the austere exterior built from grey and maroon bricks. The roofs squatted low in true medieval style, with only a few chimneys disrupting the straight lines. Beyond the castle, the sky was already a deep shade of blue, casting a blanket of stars over the property. From where I stood I could see Gloucester Cathedral peaking in the distance, nothing more than a severe silhouette against the remains of daylight. 

Count Dracula should be waking up now, or making himself ready for the wedding. 

If by some miracle, the Sun didn’t set, he would never leave his hotel, and I wouldn’t have to carry out the plan. Dracula and I could have a little more time; just enough for him to tell me tales of times past and for him to find another impossible place to break into. 

Zoe would be terminally mad at me if I skipped the plan on a mere and futile whim. And terminally dead, as well. Sparing myself from guilt shouldn’t be more important than Zoe’s chance at living. And I wasn’t about to throw away the very thing I strove for since I set that deal simply because I was having doubts.

My clutch bag, tiny as it was inside my hand, cast a heavy weight on my shoulder from the pill and the pen filled with Zoe’s blood. 

“It’s the right thing to do,” I muttered quietly as I carried down the slope, hitching my dress up my ankles so I wouldn’t trip. “Because I’ve paid such **_care_ **to what’s right over the past years.”

“Y/N!” 

I turned my upper body to look behind me, too afraid of losing balance on my heels to fully pivot. 

Mallory waved at me from the top of the hill. Even from afar I could tell she looked stunning, all long limbs showcased by a champagne coloured strapless dress. Her blond hair was slicked back tightly to her scalp, a precious stone necklace winked back at me when she motioned for me to wait for her. A shawl from the same colour of her dress was wrapped around her shoulders, twined about her forearms.

Chelsea and Sarah spilled out from a taxi behind Mallory. Chelsea had on a light blue flowy dress that complimented her golden skin nicely and Sarah wore a midnight green gown with a neckline so plunging it was a surprise I couldn’t see her bellybutton. Both of them wore their hair up in chignons. The three of them interlaced their arms for balance as they started down the slope. 

We’d met the same fate of descending a slope in high heels, apparently. The line of cars intercepting the road to the castle’s gate was so ridiculously long from all the guests on the way, that I’d thought it would be faster if I abandoned my taxi and went the last couple of metres on foot. Now that sweat slicked my forehead and threatened to smear my makeup, I was regretting that choice.

My high heels dug uncomfortably on the soles of my feet but I endured the pain as I waited for them to reach me. Concentrating on not falling was an easy way to keep my mind off of what was about to come.

“Oh!” Said Chelsea, staring at me with wide eyes, when they were close enough. “From up there your dress looked black.”

“Evie will arrange your murder today, you know that, right?” Sarah told me, her eyes sweeping down on me appraisingly.

“What they mean is that you look amazing,” Mallory said, glaring to her left at both women. They made sounds of agreement. 

My dress was constructed in a deep plum from silk taffeta, a lustrous fabric that made it look like it had more than a single shade, so I could understand Chelsea’s assumption. It criss-crossed over my chest and back in twisted straps that appeared black, purple and, in certain lights, violet. The dress’ bodice clung to my torso but fabric cascaded freely from the waist down. When I walked it embraced every curve of my legs as it bounced around me like it was liquid. 

True to Diana’s wishes, who wanted me to make Count Dracula faint upon laying eyes on me, I would bet that was something I could probably do without the aid of Zoe’s blood. However, the prospect of knocking him to his knees didn’t seem so appealing when I knew I would never have the opportunity of doing it again.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to sound pleasant and failing miserably if I was to take their expressions as truth. “So does everybody.”

Mallory pulled me to her side and laced my arm with hers.

“Are you okay?” She whispered to me as all of us continued our journey downhill. 

“Yes,” I told her.

She narrowed her eyes at me but I shook my head as a silent request for her not to pry. There were moments that Mallory’s keen perception of my mood was a blessing; this wasn’t one of them. 

Locking arms with three other women proved to be a challenge, an extremely fun one, especially when Chelsea lost balance, nearly tumbling down and dragging Mallory with her. Sarah and I were left to hold them up which rendered a few belly-aching laughs from all of us. When we finally got them up on their feet, it was my turn to shift my heel at an odd angle and hold on to Mallory’s shawl for dear life, nearly strangling her. Mallory held onto Chelsea and nearly knocked Sarah off her feet. Although we were all cackling madly at our distress, a few men in tuxedos, more guests, were kind enough to provide us with an arm to balance ourselves until we reached Berkeley Castle’s main gate.

My laughter faded into nothing as I set eyes at the woman standing at the gate. Even in heels she was tiny, her head barely reaching some of the guests shoulders as she waved them in after checking each of their names on a list. Her pixie red hair was spiky at the ends and, as if I needed any more confirmation other than her height and hair, the small crystal piercing on her nostril identified her as Sylvia, the woman tasked to switch on the UV lights down on the garden later. If she knew my face, she made no movement to acknowledge me.

As Chelsea gave her our names, I peeked down the ledge and, sure enough, down a steep fall stood a garden and a rectangular artificial pond, its surface dotted with water lillies and white rose petals. My eyes traveled around, searching between bushes and trees for spotlights suggesting the possibility of UV lights but found none except tiny floor sconces, casting wavy reflections on the water.

“That staircase leads down there,” Sylvia said in a conversational tone; a clever way of letting me know everything was set up as it should. “You can reach it through that path if you want to have a stroll through the property later.”

I looked at the direction where she pointed, taking note of it, and nodded.

“Thank you. I will.”

I followed the girls through the arching gate, too absorbed in trying to level my heartbeat to pay any attention to the somber beauty of the courtyard. However, the Great Hall managed to shake me out of my stoic resignation and I gazed around me with utter admiration. 

The room wasn’t particularly large but it was formidable in decor where size lacked. The ceiling hunched high above in curved wood beams, casting the illusion that we were beneath an old ship’s underbelly. Tapestries hung on the farthest wall bordering a fireplace large enough to fit 5 people standing up. Windows receded in alcoves inside the stone walls. A variety of ivory flowers, inky purples and rosés the colour of bitten lips flanked the entire room. Rows of white chairs on each side of the aisle were intertwined with purple ribbons. More flowers spiraled up into some sort of wooden gallery, engraved with several coats of arms in murky colours. 

Mallory tugged on my elbow so I would sit next to her and Sean, her date, who looked absolutely smitten by her – the fool – that he barely paid any attention to my cheery hello.

“Where’s– what’s his name again?” she asked me while I smoothed my dress after sitting down.

“Dracula.” I blew out a breath. “He’ll be here for the reception.”

If I was in a better state of mind I would’ve waved the fact that he was royalty just to see Mallory squeal in joy but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

She was about to ask me something else but music suddenly sparked to life, silencing every person and as one, we all stood up. The music came from above so I turned around briefly, trying to gauge where it came from, and found that a quintet played at the top of that podium. 

Evelyn’s soon-to-be husband was not at all what I expected from a woman of her calibre, gorgeous as she was, so I assumed that he had to be extremely wealthy to make up for his mousey face. One would think a bride would be more focused on walking down the aisle and gazing at her beloved but not Evelyn – she found a breach to stab daggers at my dress with her hazel eyes and, finding myself bitter, I flashed her my most goading smile. Her pace vacillated for a moment and I looked around us to see if anyone had noticed but she carried on not a second later, staring ahead of her with vicious determination.  
The ceremony proceeded after we were all sat and I listened to their vows absentmindedly. I knew what was coming: for poorer or richer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish, and at last, till death do us part. Although Evelyn and Rupert – not ashamed to say I only discovered the groom’s name when the minister mentioned it – were doing a lengthy and embellished version of it.

_Till death do us part._

“Mal,” I whispered to her as Rupert was declaring his eternal love to Evelyn. Mallory bent her head closer. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“I was always the one with the weird questions so I’d say you’ve got credit to spend,” she whispered back.

“Would you live forever if you could?”

She evaluated me for a long moment.

“What are the conditions?” 

The corners of my lips tugged up. Ever the lawyers, the pair of us.

“You would have to leave everything behind. Start another life as a new person but you’ll look the same forever.”

 _An undead person_ , I meant to say. 

“Yeah, I would,” she said but she answered too quickly for my liking.

“Would you kill for it?” I continued.

She gaped. Careful consideration passed through her green eyes.

“Lots of people would.”

“But would **_you_ **?”

“I’m terrified of dying, Y/N,” she confided. “Of growing old and forgetting things, forgetting my own name or what something’s called. And if I’m being shallow, I’m terrified of becoming an ugly old lady. I wouldn’t really be myself if it came to that, would I? I like me as I am, now. So yeah, **_hypothetically_ ** speaking, I would kill someone for it. Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I mean… I’m not sure. Growing old doesn’t bother me. I just can’t think of abandoning everything that I once was and becoming someone else just so I can live forever.”

“We do it all the time.” She grinned sheepishly. “Remember what the Mad Hatter tells Alice?” 

I rolled my eyes. 

“You’re the one obsessed with that damn book and you know I don’t remember.”

“I’ve got a sucky memory but it’s something to the effect of Alice not being the same Alice as before and that she’s lost her muchness. Anyway, we’re constantly changing, little by little, it’s up to us if we become more than before, or less.”

“I don’t think that’s what Lewis Carroll meant by that.”

“Well, that’s how I choose to look at it. So, really, how much more can I become if I live forever? There’s lots and lots of possibilities for little old me and I don't want to die before I meet all of them.”

“So you’d kill someone for that?”

“In a heartbeat.” She nodded. “Do you plan to tell me why you’ve asked me this?”

“Maybe one day if I somehow become immortal?”

“Which is never. Got it. I’ll shut up now.”

Mallory turned and sat up straight, oblivious to the veritable chance of immortality. 

Possibilities. 

That was one way to look at it. An extremely optimistic and selfish way to look at it but I never claimed to be selfless. Optimistic, however, I was far from. But just as Mallory had said, we were always changing. 

How far was I willing to go for change? I liked myself just as I was now and I couldn’t picture myself literally sucking the life out of people so I could have a chance at **_more_ **.

Which version of me was I talking about? Me, who I’ve always been; safe, calculated, blunt. Or the one who enjoyed playing with fire as much as she did reading books? 

The promise of excitement; that’s what Count Dracula said he’d found in my blood. Imagining my life for the next five years evoked no happy feelings. Where would I be? Married with kids, doing the same thing until my body shriveled and I died? A regular husband who carried groceries and did the dishes, and sometimes, when he remembered it, took me somewhere nice. How awfully… pedestrian. 

A life clad in dusk, traveling places to see more than an average person could perceive and waltzing inside churches as I laughed in the face of god… That certainly sounded more appealing. And lonely. 

Could I live forever with Count Dracula? Would he be all I would have for the rest of time? No Mallory, no Diana, no Renfield. No mum and dad. Just us.

A roar of applause and whooping rescued me from dwelling on that any further. Evelyn and Rupert must have sealed the deal with a kiss to cause all that commotion. I joined the raucous by sticking two fingers on the side of my mouth and whistling loudly enough to make Mallory and her date wince and laugh.

Not long afterwards, the guests were led to another chamber inside the castle, the Long Drawing Room according to the plaque, while the Great Hall was organised for the reception. When we returned, various tables were set elegantly in shades of cream and more flower arrangements in light pink and purple decorated each of them. 

Locating the partner table was easy; all I had to do was look for the middle-aged white men with the most disdainful poise. Of all twelve people sitting at their table, only five were women and those were some of the partners’ wives. I made sure to make eye-contact with Evelyn as I dragged Mallory and Sean along with me and flopped down next to Talbot – Evelyn’s mentor. Mallory appeared to be on cloud-nine to be sitting there. As for me, I could barely summon pleasure at the look of utter disbelief and rage in Evelyn’s face. 

Hours passed in the company of red wine, champagne and food, while I occasionally cast looks at the archway under the gallery, hoping to see Count Dracula making his entrance. I showered Mallory with compliments when I could so she could get the attention from the big bosses and deviated the subject to her whenever a partner made remarks about my work. At one point, I spotted Raoul, the “waiter” who was in on the plan, and he nodded at me solemnly. Photographers came and blinded us with their camera flash. I was certain that I would be staring in the direction of the archway in all of the photos but at least Renfield would get to see Evelyn’s sullen expression to be in the same picture with me.

A hand pressed my shoulder from behind, fingers squeezing. Swiveling my head, I saw Mallory, eyes wide.

“ **_Hell’s bloody bells_ **.”

That was the closest to a curse Mallory would ever get and I immediately turned my head in the direction she was looking at. 

“Fuck,” I sighed. A sigh because my throat wasn’t prepared to produce a sound.

Count Dracula stood under the archway, head tilted back as he took in the surroundings, eyes ever watchful. He donned a longer coat than was usually called for in an average tuxedo, overtop of a white waistcoat and white dress shirt. Wound tightly around his neck, beneath a white bow tie, was a heavy pendant in a thick cord of silk. A wine coloured silk, which went perfectly with my dress. 

The outfit did justice to his royal title flawlessly.

I stared for a long moment, willing him silently to look at me and, at the same time, wishing that he didn’t catch sight of me, turned back and left. 

“He’s looking for you,” Mallory told me over my shoulder. I simply nodded. “Well, go, silly.”

She took my glass from me and shoo-ed me out of my seat.

Though my knees wobbled as if I was some lady fanning herself over him, my feet were capable enough of moving on their own and I started weaving through tables to reach him. My ears caught Sarah and Chelsea gushing over him from a couple of tables over and I picked up my pace when Sarah suggested to Chelsea that one of them went to greet him. For a moment I was distracted apologising to a waiter for nearly knocking his tray to the floor and when I looked back at Count Dracula, my breath hitched in my chest. 

Dark eyes surveyed me from head to toe in what I would’ve called a leer if he were anyone else. My strides grew smaller as my cheeks burnt hot. I was blushing – actually blushing to the colour of a tomato no doubt, as if I was sixteen years old again. I hoped he would meet me halfway and spare my legs from giving out at any moment but he stood there, hands laced behind his back as he waited, openly lusting after me in front of a hundred people. The plan of making him faint was backfiring horribly and my mouth curled into a reluctant smile when I realised that I didn’t give a damn. 

When I finally reached him, my hands rose voluntarily, eager to feel the texture of his attire, to measure the expanse of his chest as if my eyes weren’t enough, but, realising what I was about to do, I started lowering them. Dracula caught my hands and placed them on his chest. 

“Touch,” he said, a suggestive gleam in his eyes. 

And I did. 

My hands ran up his shoulders, noting that his lapels were also silk and that the suit fit him impeccably, like he had it tailored. The buttons on his shirt were rubies encrusted in silver, or perhaps white gold. Either way, each of those buttons probably cost a fortune. The pendant vaguely resembled a crusader cross except it flared at the edges. I took it between my fingers to examine the design adorning its center. A dragon stood there, tail coiling and wings unfurling around its body. It looked like the dragon on his ring I’d seen a week ago and, once again, I found an inscription in latin.

 _“Societas Draconistarum,”_ I read, poorly. “ _Draco_ – dragon, isn’t it?” Memory jogging, I glanced up at him. A small smile tugged at his mouth, an odd expression of pride on his face. “Is this the emblem of the Order of the Dragon?”

“You did your research well,” he remarked.

“Had to. How often does someone meet a historical figure?” I adjusted the pendant so it laid squarely over his collarbones. “I’m surprised I still remember the name of your secret society, it seems like it was forever ago since I read about it.”

Calling it a secret society was far from the truth; I meant to needle him so he would elaborate on it but when he didn’t, I sent my eyes away from the pendant to focus on his face. I caught him looking down at me over his nose, lips slightly parted to reveal the tip of his tongue tracing his bottom lip. I dared to believe that he hadn’t heard a word of what I’d said, too busy fantasizing about **_something_ **.

His hands landed on my waist, forcing me closer. They skimmed down, exploring the curves of my hips and squeezing them briefly before moving up again. 

“Everyone is watching us,” I told him, grabbing each of his wrists. I couldn’t look past him but I could feel their stares.

“Don’t care,” he said curtly, ignoring my grip. “You touched. It’s only fair I do the same. You are a **_vision_ **, my darling.”

A lustful fire blazed behind his eyes and I shuddered. I dropped my hands, not minding that people were quite literally gawking at us, and allowed him to continue his investigation. 

A hand slid to my back, fingers kneading my flesh gently as he examined the dress, like he was making sure this ‘vision’ of his was real. His other hand drifted up to follow the contours of the bodice, a finger tracing the seam that led up to dress’ cleavage and then its straps crossing over my chest. I gasped as warm fingers brushed my collarbones and led a path up my neck and finally stopped to caress my cheek. His touch became tender as he reached my face, stroking my skin lightly and making me lean towards his hand, like a sunflower seeks the sun.

“I’m tempted to shower you with silk and taffeta gowns so you can wear them for me every night,” he said softly. “And so I’ll have the pleasure of tearing them off.”

“There’ll be no **_tearing_ ** off **_anything_ **.” My voice trembled. “This is an extremely expensive dress.”

“Ah, I’ll get you how many dresses you want. Don’t worry about this one. And I can be careful, if you wish. Although I want nothing more than to ravish you.” My skin crawled and he smirked as he caressed down the lengths of my arms, making me shiver. “I see. No need to be careful, then.”

“What I meant is–” I cleared my throat “–this dress isn’t coming off for you. In any shape or form.”

“You can keep it on, just as well. It’ll be no trouble.”

If he looked at me for any moment longer, I would do something drastic, such as grabbing him by the hand and taking him somewhere inside the castle where he could make good on all those fantasies. 

I swallowed dryly.

“How do you like the castle?” I asked. 

Dracula snorted, apparently amused by my attempt to deviate the subject, but he kept his hands on my arms, trailing up and down.

“Nervous again? Pity.” He looked around and I started breathing properly. “I prefer my own castle.”

“You still have a castle?”

“If it has remained untouched in the last century, yes.” Then he frowned. “It’s very likely it has been burnt to the ground now.”

“Why would that be?”

He grinned.

“The locals weren’t very partial to my presence in Wallachia. I imagine they burnt it as soon as they realised I wasn’t coming back.” He shrugged. “Unfortunate, if that’s the case. My library could have rivaled Captain Nemo’s.” 

“Oh!” I grinned. It seemed forever ago since I had eyed Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas in my collection and giggled upon taking it from its shelf and shoving it inside my purse. “Did you finish reading it?”

“Just yesterday, actually. Fantastic how Jules Verne predicted most things we have today, and how some of them are already obsolete. I would’ve liked to meet him.” 

“So you could’ve drank him?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “Thank you for the book, I found it very enjoyable. I’ll read it again in French if I come across an edition, I think various things were lost in translation. Captain Nemo is an interesting character, although a little too morose for me. I suppose he’s your favourite.”

“He is everyone’s favourite. Jules Verne wrote more books on him because of it.”

“I would like to read them. Do you have them in your library?”

“No but Mallory does. She lent me hers when we were in college.” 

If he was to spend the next years – or the rest of his existence – caged, then perhaps I could see to it that he got a few books to entertain him. I would have to make a list.

“Ah, yes, the blond coming towards us, isn’t that she?” Count Dracula nodded, eyes fixed behind me. 

I pivoted to see Mallory, dragging Sean behind her. I kept my gaze focused on hers to avoid making eye contact with one of the dozens of people staring at me and Count Dracula. We had put on quite a show to have that many sets of eyes on us.

“Y/N,” she began when she reached me. “The bride and groom will have their first dance now. You must’ve missed the announcement.” Her eyebrows jerked up trying to convey something along ‘ _you rascal_ ’ before she looked past me, her doe eyes focusing on Count Dracula. “I’ve heard loads about you. Dracula, isn’t it?”

“Mal…” I complained.

“Did you now?” Count Dracula said, tone all honey as he placed his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. He rounded me, stopping at my side, and letting one hand drop. “I would say I’m surprised but that would be a lie.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mallory. Y/N speaks greatly of you.”

Until a minute ago, I had never spoken about her to him so I knew he was being courteous, although my blood probably **_did_ ** speak great things of her.

Dracula accepted Mallory’s extended hand and, instead of shaking it, he turned it so he could plant a kiss on top of it. He’d done the same to me when I first met him. Her mouth fell open and Sean’s ears turned red as he pulled Mallory back by her arm. She swatted Sean away.

“He’s not British,” I said, trying to assuage them. “Eastern Europe is quite old-fashioned in some ways.”

“Forgive me,” said Dracula, looking like he wasn’t sorry at all with that smug smile plastered to his face. “I’m afraid I’m still adapting and haven’t managed to shrug off the education in which I was raised.”

“Which education was that?” Sean asked between gritted teeth.

“An aristocrat’s one.” Dracula smiled.

Mallory’s eyes widened until they were about ready to pop out of their sockets. 

“Show-off,” I muttered, elbowing the Count lightly.

A group of people were converging around the dance floor and I laced my arm with Count Dracula’s.

“We’ll miss the first dance,” I said, and nudged Mallory with my hip so she would stop gawking. She nodded weakly and went ahead with Sean. “She’ll never shut up about you now,” I muttered to Count Dracula as we followed them.

“Good. From what I gather, Mallory has always been very encouraging of your endeavors. Perhaps she will give you the final push.”

“Towards you?” 

“Yes, and I’ll gladly receive you.” 

“With open arms and fangs,” I grumbled. 

“How tragic,” he shot back, chuckling.

A waltz started as we reached the bundle of people and I saw Evelyn and Rupert entering the dancefloor just before they started swaying to it. The smile on her lips seemed genuine so I supposed that although her husband wasn’t exactly attractive, she did have feelings for him. The bitch had a heart, after all.

The guests clapped furiously when their waltz stopped. Another waltz followed, less upbeat than the previous and what sounded like more strings attacking the melody, and couples looked at each other, waiting to see who would be the first ones to join the bride and groom. 

Count Dracula untangled my arm from his and took my hand inside his not a moment later. With all my training from last night, I let him lead me to the dance floor, forgetting all about Evelyn’s scathing stare, and smiling up at him as I set a hand on his shoulder. We started slowly, following the melody as more couples joined us, but when the tune’s pace picked up and Dracula moved to accompany it, I nearly twisted my ankle.

“Did you forget everything I taught you last night?” He provoked.

“No.” I furrowed my brows, offended. “I was wearing boots yesterday. High heels aren’t exactly waltz friendly for a beginner.”

Dracula’s hand on my back moved to fully encircle my body and, in one move, he lifted me and smashed my chest to his. When he set me down, my face was closer to his, closer than I ever was to him when it came to height, and my feet kept moving, although I wasn’t making an effort to. The softness under my heels proved to me that I wasn’t touching the ground and I laughed, realising me that he had set me over his own feet and had continued to dance like my weight was nothing. Guests around us snickered, prompting me to laugh more. 

My nose brushed his as my laughter died down and my eyes strained to focus on something in the close proximity. I could feel every inch of his body shaped to mine and that queasy feeling I’d told Mallory about settled in my belly. A mere movement of his feet could sway me forward and brush our mouths together.

My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. It beat madly against my ribs like it was a caged animal. Could Count Dracula feel its thud inside his chest due to our nearness? As if it was his own heart, beating lively for the first time in the last five centuries? 

I sighed, pressing my cheek to his. Count Dracula nuzzled closer until I felt his lips grazing my earlobe and sending a wave of arousal down my body.

“Aren’t you worried about ruining your shoes?” I said into his ear.

His chest heaved under mine and I wondered if that was him taking a deep breath of my scent.

“Not at all,” he responded. “They are disposable but I shall keep them, if only to admire the dents your high heels will leave on the leather.”

A grin took my mouth, making my cheeks hurt from opening so wide. 

“Does your castle look anything like this one?” I asked him, attempting to focus less on how his body felt against mine.

“Mine has more towers and it sits far up on a mountain peak. It’s bigger than this one. Hence it was difficult to keep it to pristine condition, especially because I had no servants after I became what I am today. I frighten people, can you imagine that?” His chuckle tickled my ear. “This one was designed to be pleasing to the eye, I imagine, while serving the purpose of a fortress all the same. My home is nothing but a fortress to keep people out but, most of the time, **_in_ **. It isn’t pretty.”

I pretended to not hear the part about keeping people in.

“Do you miss it?”

“No. Though, I realised today I was far more attached to that library than I remembered. There are manuscripts there, signed ones, and countless others invaluable books. Forbidden ones by the church, as well. When Renfield recovers, I’ll have him find out if my castle is still standing, and if it is I’ll have my books sent to me.”

“Maybe Captain Nemo would be jealous of **_your_ **collection. I know I am,” I said. As we spun, Mallory, dancing with Sean, caught my eyes over the Count’s shoulder and grinned like an excited child as she gave me a thumbs up. I winked back at her. “I’ve seen pictures of Romania when I researched you. It’s beautiful. And the weather seems more agreeable than England’s. Why would you move here?”

“The Industrial Revolution,” he answered, shrugging as he continued our dance. His dance, to be fair. I was simply taking a ride. “England was far ahead than any other place in the world and Romania with all its superstition fell behind, always more of the same in centuries. And I wanted to see new things developing instead of just hearing about them. So I came, and missed most of them because of Agatha.” He sighed. “Unfortunate in some ways but for the best in others.” He dug his fingers on my waist to let me know what he meant. 

Dracula danced with me in silence from then on. We danced until everyone was on the dance floor with us and the waltzes had been substituted by song ballads. I had my forehead resting in the crook of his neck as I breathed evenly, though my heart still seemed somewhat reluctant to beat at a normal pace.

“Y/N,” he called and I hummed in response. “Tell me what you were going to recite last night.”

I opened my mouth to recite it, and then snapped it shut. I started sliding my hand from his, freeing myself of his hold, but he clasped it and fully laced his arm around my back like he was a snake coiling around its prey. 

“I can’t,” I mumbled. I remained still, head tucked on his neck as I stared at the dragon pendant. 

“Why?”

“Because it’s true, and it’s one of my secrets. You don’t need to know it.”

“But I want to know it. Your every secret, your truth, I want everything. And yesterday you told me you’d tell me.”

“I lied.” I rose my head to look at him. His black eyes, unwavering in its intensity, lured me in like a raging sea. I could have drowned in them. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“No, I couldn’t.” He furrowed his brows for a second and then smiled. “I don’t know whether to be proud that you’ve learned how to lie to me or be annoyed about it. Deciphering you will be an even greater challenge from now on.”

“Good.”

Baudelaire’s words revolved in my head repeatedly. Like a song lyric, one without rhythm but all of its meaning. 

_‘What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?’_

I needed that second. As a reminder of what I was throwing away.

I glanced at Dracula’s lips and tilted my head closer. He blinked, comprehension passing his eyes as my mouth neared his. He stopped dancing and became very still, as if he was afraid to scare me away by a brusque movement. My nose bumped into his. My eyes were wide, half scared about what I was doing, half scared of missing the look on his eyes. I stood on my tiptoes, further ruining his shoes, and captured his lips with mine.

I stopped breathing and finally closed my eyes, too caught up in the feel of him to have them open. And then he freed my hand which he had been holding captive to trap me with both of his arms as he parted his mouth. In the past, his lips had been always cold when we kissed, and now, the feel of his warm tongue on mine, demanding and hungry, was what made me shudder. Unrestrained need to feel more of him, anything, just more and more, made me deepen the kiss and delve my fingers into his hair. He established a slow pace but I still struggled to gasp for air in between our short, nearly nonexistent pauses. 

I heard a faint chattering that sounded suspiciously of admonishment but I didn’t care. I was doing something stupid but for the life of me, I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, whether it was for my sake or for the sake of someone else’s reprisals. And I wanted to give Count Dracula this, the one thing he shouldn’t have before he went away.

When he tried to pull away to give me room to breathe, I simply grabbed his face and crushed my lips to his again. He moaned low on his throat and an ache started between my legs, rising up towards my breasts and I suddenly felt like my dress was restraining me. His hands roved my back, seeking to touch more of me as I did with him, but it wasn’t enough and I soon found myself cursing the fact that there were people watching us.

I don’t think I would’ve stopped if it wasn’t for Count Dracula grabbing the nape of my neck and tearing me away from him.

“No–” I started to protest but caught hold of myself when he, very slowly, started dancing again. And when he did, I felt a distinct stiffness pressing against my stomach. My mouth fell open for a brief second and the look on his eyes was enough to make me hide my face on the curve of his neck. “Oh.”

“Yes. **_Oh._ **” He chuckled in my ear, and I shuddered as the throbbing between my legs intensified.

“You should’ve stopped me earlier,” I muttered.

“And miss your face when you realised what you did?”

“I didn’t **_do_ ** anything,” I said, trying to conceal a snicker. “Not on purpose.”

He just laughed.

I shut my eyes, doing my best to memorise the sound.

When Count Dracula stopped dancing at the end of the song, and nothing else stood between us, I slowly disentangled myself from him. The front of my body felt oddly cold and bare now that I stood apart from him and I had to swipe a hand down my dress to make sure it was still there. I glanced at him and snorted upon noticing that his lips were swollen.

“You have lipstick all over,” I said, smiling like an idiot. He bent his head closer as I cleaned the corners of his mouth with my thumb. Grabbing my jaw gently, he did the same with me, his fingers brushing my numb lips and leaving a tingly sensation where he touched. “Better?” I asked, dropping my hand when I was done. 

He nodded and started leaning his head forward. Feeling suddenly modest as if I hadn’t just rubbed myself against him as two hundred people watched, I turned my head to the side and his lips touched my cheek . 

“Y/N, look at me.” I did and I almost wished I didn’t. Tenderness was a peculiar thing to find in the eyes of a murderer but I found it. “Was that a yes?”

“Yes.” I nodded lightly. “Sort of.”

I could say it because it wouldn’t last long.

The crease between Dracula’s eyebrows told me he was considering my answer but if he wanted to question me about what ‘sort of’ meant, he saved it for later.

I slid from his grasp until I clasped his hand. 

“I need to visit the ladies’ room. I’ll only take a minute. Why don’t I introduce you to some people so you’ll have company until I come back?”

He acquiesced.

Ignoring every judgmental look I received, I weaved my way between tables until I caught sight of Mallory’s blond head sitting at the partner’s table. If anyone at that table had witnessed us at the dance floor, nobody let it show on their faces as Count Dracula shook hands with them. I doubted anyone would have said anything either, since he towered over the entire group with a slight curl of his lips that simply dared anyone to ask. It was like a wolf making nice with the deer right before it ate it. 

“Mal,” I leaned close to her so only she could hear me. “Come with me to the ladies?”

“Sure.” She set down her glass of champagne on the table and picked up our purses. 

My purse felt very heavy on my hands and I was already dreading opening it. I slanted a look at Count Dracula to see that he was already sitting down and in deep conversation with Talbot about life in England.

As if I needed another reminder, Raoul came by at that moment, his white suit clinging to every muscle on his arm and making me wonder what was his true occupation. With swollen muscles like that, I doubted he was a doctor like Zoe.

“Miss, would you like a drink? If you’re not satisfied with your wine, I can prepare a cocktail, if you wish.”

I almost said ‘Manhattan’ right there but my mouth wouldn’t form the words.

“Maybe later,” I told him, and he left.

Turning to Count Dracula, I bent so I could level my mouth with his ear, and as I did so his nostrils flared, the oddest look crossing his face.

“Try not to bite anyone in the meanwhile.” I whispered, forcing myself to sound normal instead of rueful. “I’ll be right back.”

When I drew back, his face was impassive and he merely nodded at me before flashing a beguiling smile at Talbot as they resumed their conversation.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

“I don’t care what you say, Y/N,” Mallory was saying. “You have to shag him. For me, for all the women thirsting after him, and for **_science_ **.” I laughed. “I’m serious! Who cares if he’s not a good person! Just bloody do it! It’s like waving an opportunity goodbye as it passes you, and don’t you dare let that happen. And you forgot to mention that he’s royalty? What is he, by the way?”

My ears burnt the entire way to the ladies’ room, deep into the castle, as Mallory went on and on. We would’ve gotten lost inside the castle if it wasn’t for the plaques at every corner.

“He likes the term ‘Count’ but–” 

“And where is he from?! Do they make more of him where he’s from? I need one. Wait, did you say he’s a count?” She gripped my arm as we entered the restroom. I giggled at her face when I nodded. It was comforting to hear Mal run her mouth at the speed of light, talking about ordinary, silly things when nothing at all felt like that. “Evelyn wanted to throttle you, I swear! But god, it was so lovely when he put you over his feet. I think every woman there **_swooned_ **–” She locked herself in a bathroom stall and cut off her own speech.

After I was done using my own stall, I gathered my dress around me and sat down on the toilet lid. I opened my clutch bag and stared at its contents; two mobiles, the keys to my Airbnb, lipstick, face powder, a red pill for luck and a pen filled with blood. I stared until my eyes burnt with tears. In there, laid my freedom and his ruin. Just then, I desperately wanted to be struck by fate’s funny sense of humour. For a wind to knock that pill into the toilet and fling that pen far away from my hand’s reach.

But I’d come this far. To back down would be unwise and, despite everything I’d done, I still held my own life to some standard. And again, came that inane question, which life did I hold dearest? This unpromising, dull life which I’d been living or this new one? The one that could be wondrous and chancy? 

Dracula’s voice came back from a week ago like he was whispering in my ear.

_You lie to yourself, darling. But never to me._

I’d proven half of that wrong. But with every growing second as I stared at that pill, I started believing that he was right about the first. 

I grabbed the phone Zoe had given me. My body tingled with adrenaline. My own phone’s screen lit up, revealing notifications from a number I didn’t recognise. Momentarily forgetting the reason I’d grabbed Zoe’s gifted phone, I started checking the texts I’d received. All from the same number.

“Y/N?” Mallory called from the other side of my stall. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah! Um…” I scrolled down the texts and tried to make sense of them. “Just had a little dress malfunction. I’ll be out in a second. Go ahead if you want to.”

“Need help?”

A knock when I didn’t answer straight away. The phone shook in my hands and I had to force my hands to quit trembling so I could reread the texts.

“No, I’m fine! Thanks, Mal.” My voice came out composed in spite of the rage building up inside of me. 

“Okay. I’ll wait for you outside.”

I left the bathroom stall as soon as I heard Mallory leave. Head reeling, I leaned on the sink countertop and read the texts for the third time.

The first one was a link that led to a news page. Photos of a Chinese young man and a bearded ginger smiled at me under the title announcing that the tragic deaths of the two post-grad students in Surrey were now being qualified as a murder-suicide.

The second text simply read “ **don’t drink the pill** ”.

The third one was a video.

And finally, the one text that I’d read until I had all words memorised. 

> **You might as well die like those guys in Surrey if you take that pill. Don’t believe anything Dr. Van Helsing says. She doesn’t care about you. Finnegan killed Chang because of the pill’s induced paranoia. Watch the video and you’ll see I’m right.** ****

Putting the volume on the lowest setting possible, I pressed play on the video.

It started with Zoe speaking directly at the camera about try-outs for the pill. This was try-out number 17. I skipped that part until I found a frame with the two young men from the news article sitting across from each other on the floor. Zoe, in her lab coat, stood far away from the camera, separated by a glass wall from Chang and Finnegan – I assumed. The two of them were playing a card game as Zoe’s muffled voice, mechanic and cold from the microphone, sounded inside the sterile room asking them to begin a new game. I skipped a few more minutes. The next frame began with a loud crack off-camera, like one might hear from a gun, and the two men instantly shot up to their feet, punching the glass wall as they demanded they be left out. That went on for a few seconds until Chang turned on Finnegan like a rabid dog. Zoe simply observed, making notes on a clipboard. Blood flew from Chang’s mouth as Finnegan savagely attacked him back and only then did Zoe show a reaction, waving for someone to interfere. And then the video cut.

Mild paranoia specific to loud sounds; that was one of the pill’s side-effects Zoe had mentioned to me. There was nothing mild about that video.

And now that Surrey police was qualifying their deaths as a murder-suicide, combined with those texts, the only conclusion possible was that Finnegan cut Chang’s throat and then cut his own wrists, like the news article especulated. They had been found at their student hall, in the room they shared. Most likely **_after_ ** the effects of that pill were over, or **_should_ ** have been over. 

Zoe had lied right to my face about them committing suicide. I’d asked her if I had to worry about what happened in Surrey, and she looked me straight in the eyes and lied about it when she very well knew what could happen to me. What had probably happened to those students. Despite my line of work, I slept just fine but I did wonder if Zoe slept at all. Perhaps Chang and Finnegan weren’t the firsts, and certainly wouldn’t be the last to die if I drank that pill. As long as she got Count Dracula, I supposed it didn’t matter. All I was to her was collateral damage.

If Zoe didn’t care enough about my own life and the very real possibility of me going rabid like that, there was no reason I should care about hers and see this plan through. 

That I knew of, there was only one person that cared enough, for entirely different reasons, to let me know about the pill. And that person was Jack, Zoe’s student. I texted a simple “ **thank you** ” back.

I took a screenshot of the texts and forwarded all of them to my personal number in the event that I could use them against Zoe, say, if this got out and a London prosecutor needed evidence of clandestine trials for his news-worthy case. Oh, and it would be a bombastic one if I played this right. 

I sent a text to the three numbers saved on the phone Zoe had given me. 

**Abort.**

Then I removed the mobile’s sim card and bent it at the centre.

I stuck the mobile back in my clutch bag to get rid of it later and threw the bag to a corner of the sink’s countertop. The pill rolled out of the slitted opening and drew a lazy path to the dipped sink. Motionless, I watched as it fell down the drain, and then I really laughed. Fate is funny during dire straits, or maybe I was going into hysterics thinking about what could have happened if Jack hadn’t sent those texts. With the pill gone, I only had to get rid of the pen now to put an end to the plan. I threw it in the bin.

I looked at myself in the mirror, waiting for terror to rise up. I had said yes to Count Dracula. Half a yes since I’d added ‘sort of’, but a yes nonetheless. But strangely, I wasn’t afraid. At all. Maybe Mallory had been right. Maybe I wasn’t frightened of him but of what I felt for him – bond or no bond. And I couldn’t shrug off all that he had given me, or the memories. I wanted them with me forever, and I wanted more of them. I wanted him and, although eternal life did seem a little daunting, I wanted that, too. Dying after having lived a prosaic life seemed like a worst prospect. 

A prudent amount of fear did rise, then. I was ready to entertain the idea of immortality but not to jump headfirst into it, yet. A yes, if only for the beginnings of the deal. A yes to feeling Dracula’s teeth sinking in my neck as I melted into nothingness. A yes until I was ready.

After I jammed everything back in my purse and fixed myself up in the mirror, I left the restroom with my heart nearly bursting out of my chest. 

“Mal?” I called upon finding the corridor empty. “Mallory?”

Her feet must have started to hurt from waiting for me so long. I started following the plaques back to the Great Hall. 

Winding down through the corridors, I was faced with a dead end and turned around, following the path back to the restrooms so I could begin from the start. Maybe Mal wasn’t the only one with a small case of Alzheimers. 

As I reached the restrooms, a clatter of metal striking stone sounded from a room at the end of the hallway, parallel to the restrooms. 

“Mallory, are you in–” 

Silky fabric pooled around a man’s feet and a woman’s soft moan echoed inside the long room. Thinking I had accidentally interrupted a frisky couple, I started retreating, grateful that the man had his back to me and hadn’t seen me. But then my eyes focused on the fabric strewn on the floor. Champagne coloured, like Mallory’s outfit. The shawl she’d been wearing.

A feral sound drew my eyes up to the man again.

Count Dracula turned around, revealing a limp Mallory in his arms in a filthy imitation of a lover’s embrace, and smiled a smile of red teeth. A sliver of scarlet poured down from the jagged wound on Mallory’s throat, welling at the hollow of her collarbone and staining the front of her dress. 

I watched as a drop of blood fell to the ground and, as if drawn by it, my purse fell too. My body jolted free from shock at the dull thud at my feet and I strode inside the room.

“What did you **_do_ **!” I shrieked. 

His tongue snaked out to capture the drops of blood that ran down his chin as red eyes bore into mine with enough viciousness to make me falter. My eyes flicked to Mallory’s chest. My breath left my lungs all at once when I saw it move and I forgot my initial fear. I took large strides to grab Mallory and push him away from her. Despite my efforts, his arms remained tied about her waist, and I struggled, tears running rapidly down my cheeks as I bumped a fist on his chest to make him release her.

“Let her fucking go, you bastard!” 

My fist hit air and suddenly I was struggling to keep myself and Mallory up. My knees buckled at her weight and I had no choice but bend down with her, gathering her up in my arms to lay her down on the floor. Warmth slid down my arms but I refused to look at Mallory’s blood running down my skin in waterfalls. Her eyes fluttered like the wings of a tired butterfly. I called her name but all she did was groan. I could almost pretend she was asleep, having a nightmare. Almost.

“Why did you do that?” I wiped my cheeks, scratching my nails under my eyes in my furious effort to rid myself of tears, and stood up to my full height, fists balled on each side of me. I forced myself to watch as Dracula sucked on his lips and cleaned it of Mallory’s blood. “I said yes. I fucking said it! Why the fuck would you ruin everything! You said you wouldn’t hurt– Ah!”

The world spun. My breath was knocked out of me an instant later as my back hit something hard. Dracula’s hands squeezed my shoulder until I squirmed and pushed at him to let me go but he only pressed me harder against a wall. I was sure I would have bruises later – whether I would be the one dealing with them or a coroner was still a question. Dracula leaned until his face stood right in front of me and I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at my reflection on his black eyes. If I saw the terror stamped in my face, I would start bawling and begging and I refused to die like that. 

“I **_said_ ** I wouldn’t hurt **_you_ **.” His voice was pure velvet. The kind of tone someone reserved to speak sweet nothings into a lover’s ears. It seemed indecent that he could sound like that while holding me in an embrace that could easily reduce me to dust. 

“You’re hurting me now,” I mumbled in a tiny voice. And just like that, he let me go. My eyes opened into slits, peeking at him and seeing blurry, distorted features from all the tears flooding my vision. I blinked so I could see clearly and the tears left a hot trail as they ran down my face. Dracula had let me go but his body still blocked my way, caging me with a hand on each side of my head. “I **_kissed_ ** you, I said yes. Did you not hear me?”

Dracula grabbed my jaw and forced his mouth on mine, fingers squishing my cheeks painfully so his tongue could delve in. The metallic taste of blood blossomed in my mouth. Mallory’s blood. I punched his chest but he only held me tighter as his tongue flicked through every crevice of my mouth in a vulgar imitation of a kiss. Finally, I took hold of his hair with my hands and pulled to tear him away. Stomach churning, I wiped the back of my hand over my lips to rid myself of the revolting taste. He gazed at me with devious black eyes.

I meant to ask why, why he’d done that. Why, why, just everything why. But maybe there was no explanation, maybe he was showing me his true nature concealed by the charm and the looks and the theatrical affection. This was him unfurling his wings just before he swallowed me whole. 

“Oh, I heard you and I believed you, too,” he said, panting like he had actually used air to kiss me, if anyone could call that a kiss. “You’ve gotten **_so_ ** good at lying to me, Y/N, it’s astounding. I thought I’d won you, that you were mine. I was certain, actually, ever since last night at the cathedral. And then I smelled Zoe Van Helsing on your purse. She has a very particular scent, not unlike Agatha’s, except she’s marked by death.” He chuckled, wrinkles appearing around his eyes although they remained humourless. “I should have learnt by now not to underestimate you and, my darling, you still surprise me. Had I known you were capable of such cruelty I would have simply taken you without a deal. Quite the bride you’ll be.”

The odd look on his face right before I went to the restroom with Mallory. His nostrils flaring. That was the moment he must have smelled Zoe. But he shouldn’t have, not with that many essential oils coating the pen. Yet here we were. 

I glanced from him to Mallory, inert, and then back at him.

“Mallory was a simple reminder not to cross me,” he explained. “You’re mine. Forever. I don’t know what kind of game you and Zoe are playing, and I am **_dying_ ** to know, but it stops now. I don’t want to kill you, darling.” He stroked my cheek with his knuckles and I turned my face away but his hand followed like a shadow. “And I won’t hurt you because you’ve asked me not to, but you don’t get a way out of this deal. Beautiful Mallory, ah the poor girl... consider her the final push you needed towards me.”

I was his, he’d said, because I’d been stupid enough to say yes to a monster dressed up as man. Mallory, emptying out of blood on the floor as an overturned bottle of wine, was the best reminder he could have given me. He had done that just because he smelled Zoe on my purse. I could only assume he would do worse when he found out the whole story.

“You could have simply asked me! That’s what people do when they find out someone lied, they question them about the truth!” I protested. “You didn’t have–”

“Would you have told me?” A single eyebrow jerked up. “Or would you have lied?”

I stared at him, lips quivering as if I was child caught doing something bad.

“At Greenwich Park…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You said you wanted me to trust you. I may be stuck with you for all eternity but trust is something you’ll never get from me after this.”

He grinned, but it wasn’t the grin I had grown to find charming and sweet. It was just a deturped version of it where the corners of his mouth twisted in restrained callousness.

“The feeling is mutual for the moment. In five years, ten or maybe thirty years, we’ll come around.”

I’d gotten what I wanted, what part of me – a secret and very well hidden part – had always wanted from the moment I set that deal. The excitement, the possibilities, the power, but it was all for naught. Immortality started with a bitter taste in my mouth when I’d yearned only for the sweet flavours he’d given me so far. 

With bitterness I had enough experience with. I could handle that better than I could admit that he’d bitten Mallory because of my arrogance that I would come out of this plan unscathed. So, I raised my chin, willing as much insolence as I could into my expression, and huffed, squaring my shoulders. 

“Bite me and be done with it, then.” I said, and pushed my head back to expose my neck. 

His eyes fell on my neck with the weight of a stone.

“No, not yet, darling. Your friend satiated my thirst for now, and I want you for myself for a little while longer. But I do want an explanation.”

He leaned closer, the calmest expression stamped in his face as if he was expecting me to tell him what time it was. I was done being fooled by him and I didn’t know where to begin, how to form the words that had led up to this and tears welled in my eyes again. I eyed Mallory. A sea of red smeared the floor around her. 

Take care of Mallory, that was my priority. Save my friend who’d gotten caught up in this because of me. If I wanted her to survive, I should lose the sentimentality and simply be practical. I could go into hysterics later and scream my lungs out into a pillow as I soaked it with tears.

“I’ll give you an explanation but Mallory needs a doctor first.” Summoning the last threads of sanity that remained, I ducked under his arm. I expected him to yank me back but he didn’t touch me. I crouched next to Mal and looked at him over my shoulder. “Will she be okay?” 

Dracula’s tongue poked at the insides of his cheeks in apparent thought. Not a drop of blood speckled his suit, untouched by what he had done.

“I didn’t take that much blood. All she needs is rest and a bandage.” He strode over to hover over Mallory and I, gesturing for me to step aside. I stood up quickly, scrambling away, as he lowered himself to take her in his arms. Shame assailed me for being more scared of him than more protective of Mallory. Her head lolled as he adjusted her. “I’ll take her to my car.”

“What? Why?”

“You can’t call an ambulance, can you?” He asked when he got up. Mallory groaned softly at the movement. “How do you plan to explain what happened to her, hm? You can’t carry her or call for help. I’m your best option, dear.” He smiled.

What other option did I have? I didn’t have an explanation. The only way I would get Mallory to safety was with his help, and he knew it. To depend on him after what he’d done was yet another punishment. I smothered a sob. The skin on my face stretched tautly as I glowered. I knew the feeling; I’d felt it after countless parties with Mal when alcohol had stirred up emotions that I avoided revisiting. Tears and makeup were drying up in a mask of misery. 

Mal’s blond hair was heavy with blood at the tips and I fought the urge not to twist it like I would do to a soaked rag. 

I snatched the shawl at my feet. The piercing sound of metal clanging bounced on my eardrums and I looked down to see a bronze ashtray rolling under an ottoman. It must have been under the shawl and my brisk movement caused it to rebound. That was the sound that attracted me to that room in the first place. I was willing to bet Count Dracula had knocked it on purpose to draw me in there so he could teach me a lesson. Suddenly, I wanted to take the ashtray and smash it against every wall in that room. Instead, I pushed a nearby persian rug to soak up Mallory’s blood in a shoddy attempt to cover it up.

“I won’t leave you alone with her,” I said, throwing the shawl around my shoulders to cover my bloodied arm. 

“Do you want me to walk into the middle of the party with her like this?” He inquired. I clenched my jaw and Count Dracula smiled, arching his brows. “I suppose not. I’ll get her out of here unseen and you can meet me at the car park. I’ll drop you two at where you’re staying. Clean yourself up. I’ll wait.”

I opened my mouth to discuss and he was gone, my hair floating around me as if a car had passed me at an extreme speed. I left not a second later. I swept my clutch bag from the floor just before rushing past the restroom. Hugging the Mallory’s shawl tightly around me, I headed out of Berkeley Castle.

* * *

“Watch her head,” I warned as Count Dracula dragged Mallory from my lap. 

I slid across the BMW’s backseat, supporting her upper body so Dracula could carry her. He had an arm under her knees and I maneuvered her, pushing and raising her up, so he could set another arm just under her shoulders. When she was secured in his arms, I climbed out of the car, bundling Mallory's shawl on my hands. It had gone from a pretty champagne colour to scarlet red after I used to stanch the blood and it weighed like a bucketful. I suspected that all the washing in the world wouldn’t clean that red.

“You should burn that,” Dracula said. 

I raised my eyes, and frowned. Surely I was imagining things. My lids felt like sandpaper in my eyes now that adrenaline had faded and my thoughts were too scared to form a coherent line of thought, but that look in his eyes, brief as it was, resembled regret. It was gone when I blinked.

“I will.”

Fumbling a hand inside my clutch bag, I retrieved the keys to the Airbnb. With every movement, Mal’s dried blood on my arm tugged on my skin like a spiderweb constraining me, and I swiped a hand on my arm to rid myself of the feeling. Blood cracked like dried earth beneath my fingers and I shuddered.

Dracula followed me up the stairs to the rented flat.

One time, in another life it seemed, when Mallory and I shared a room in college, we went to a pub after we were done with classes and gotten so plastered that I had to ask a security guard on campus to carry Mal up to our room as I practically crawled on all fours up the stairs. 

I could almost pretend it was the same situation. But instead of beer and whiskey, my nostrils were impregnated with the stinging scent of blood.

As I unlocked the door to the flat, Count Dracula loomed over me. A lingering presence on my shoulder, pressing me down. Instinct told me all of this was going too smoothly ever since he carried Mallory in his arms back at Berkeley Castle. All I needed was to get Mallory and myself safely inside the flat, where Dracula couldn’t enter without an invitation.

I pushed the door open and threw the blood soaked shawl inside. It fell with a wet splat to the fake wood tiles.

“Give her to me,” I said, offering my arms to Dracula.

“You’re not strong enough to carry her,” he stated.

“I know. Just throw her arm over my shoulder.” My voice sounded meek. “I’ve got plenty of experience with drunk Mallory, it shouldn’t be too different.” Count Dracula stared at me. “You know I can do it, you’ve seen her in my blood, haven’t you?”

For a moment, I thought he’d simply laugh in my face. As if he’d let me go inside the flat with Mallory without getting an explanation first. But then he lowered Mal’s legs to the ground and I sighed in relief. I placed her arm over my shoulder and stumbled inside the flat, taking a deep breath when I made it all the way inside with her. 

“Y/N?” She whispered.

“I’m here,” I said as I placed her down on the floor, resting her back against the dining room table. She groaned, green eyes opening into slits as her forehead creased. Floors were easier to clean than couches and I would have to do a damn good job of cleaning the flat so as to not leave any vestiges behind. “You’re gonna be fine, love. I’ll put you in a bath in a second, okay?”

She nodded weakly and closed her eyes again.

From where I stood, I swiveled my head to look at Count Dracula standing at the doorway outside of the flat. His white shirt had a long streak of red now.

“Will she remember what happened?” I asked.

“No.” I started turning away but he continued. “Y/N, I’m waiting.”

I stood up and kicked my high heels off. The floor felt weird under my feet, like I’d forgotten how to stand on solid ground. I rolled my head on my shoulders before starting to pick hairpins out from my scalp.

“We’re not talking right now. Mal needs me and you’re still pissed off. People are irascible when they’re pissed. So we’ll talk later.”

“You’re not dictating **_anything_ ** after tonight,” he snarled.

“Yes, I fucking am,” I snapped, throwing hairpins across the room. “I’m tired and–” I exhaled “–and I’m **_sad,”_ ** I sobbed. Oh god, not this. More tears sprung out of my eyes like they were being mass-produced by my body. “I lied about a lot of things but when I said yes– I wasn’t lying. I really would have gone through with it. I would.” I met his eyes to try and gauge if those words had any effect on him but he looked like a statue. “I’ll tell you everything when I’m not this emotional and when your anger subsides. You might not want to kill me but I think there is a very real chance you will.”

“I’m not angry,” he bit off.

“Really? I bet Mallory’s neck disagrees.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill her.”

“Doesn’t matter. You still attacked her because you were angry at me.” I strode to the door, looking deep into his eyes and trying to see through them, trying to ignore the wave of hurt that drowned all other senses. It was difficult to imagine that I had been getting lost in those eyes earlier just before I’d kissed him. And even harder to fathom that part of me wished he would fall to his knees and apologise profusely and to know that I would forgive him. “We both need time to calm down.” 

I started closing the door and he placed a hand on it to stop me.

“I’ve given you too much time already.” His voice was soft and I almost believed he wasn’t really angry at me. That all of that was just him acting rash. “You’re mine now, Y/N, no matter what you did.”

“Please.” It came out in a plea, and I almost sank to the ground in humiliation for having to beg after all that had happened. “Two weeks so I can take care of Mallory. Two weeks so I can gather my thoughts and so you can take out your anger on as many boards of directors as you want. Please. Just two weeks.”

“One week,” he countered.

“Two,” I repeated, forcing the door. It groaned in protest but didn’t move. “I can’t bear the sight of you right now. All I need is two weeks. I know I can’t get away from you and that I can’t take back that yes. Two weeks and I’m all yours.”

“If you’re planning something again, Y/N–”

“I’m not!” I shouted and then cleared my throat. “I’ve got nothing up my sleeve. Not even Zoe. She could drop dead for all I care. I just need time to heal, okay? That’s all.”

Count Dracula gazed at me for a long moment and I stared back, willing myself to stop crying but tears spilled out anyway. He pulled his lips down, black eyes darkening as he scrutinised me, and I prayed once again, foolishly, for him to ask for forgiveness. Prayed that what I felt for him would flare into hate for the next few weeks but I knew it wouldn’t. All I felt was heartbreak, and maybe even that wasn’t real. It could just be the bond. 

“Ten days,” he finally said, and I closed my eyes momentarily for this small mercy. “And then you will explain.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I know.  
> I'm sorry?


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

“Y/N, are you awake?” Mallory asked. 

I closed the book and peeked my head up from beneath the covers to look at her. Light attacked my eyes and I squinted for a brief moment, gathering the covers under my chin. 

“Did you really need to switch on that light?” I sat up on the bed and blinked. “This one was doing its job just fine.” I pointed at the reading light next to me.

“You’ll grow wings and turn into a bat any day now.” She laughed, and I glowered. Turning into a bat could very well be a possibility. I hadn’t asked Dracula about that. There was a lot I hadn’t asked, and a lot that he probably wouldn’t tell me now. “A joke, Y/N. You still remember those?”

“Not sure I do,” I scoffed. “You look great. Are you going out with Sean?”

Mallory’s blonde locks laid in large curls around her shoulders – an hour of carefully applied curling iron, I’d say – and her makeup was soft in such a way that her eyes looked more almond shaped than round and innocent like they usually did. A beige trench coat covered her outfit but her legs were on display. Mallory favoured mini dresses so I presumed that was what she had on underneath.

“No, he’s being annoying, it’s just me and the girls. And don’t you change the subject. I don’t feel good about leaving you here.” She sighed. “You’re my guest and I’ll leave you here to go party? That’s not right, but if you come with… It’ll be fun, come on. I’ll wait for you if you go get ready. We’ll drink and dance, and maybe you’ll find someone else.” 

Someone else to end up bitten by Count Dracula. Another lesson, like Mallory was, to remind me that I was his. 

“No rebounds,” I muttered. “I’ll be fine. I don’t feel like dancing.” She frowned. “Mal, I’m incredibly thankful that you’re letting me stay here but you don’t have to feel like you need to cater to me. We lived together during uni. Don’t think of me as a guest, more like a flatmate, a very brief one. I’ll go back home in two days time”

Staying with Mallory was more her decision than mine. Days ago, she’d bought a last minute train ticket from Gloucester and returned with me to London when the Sun was still up in the sky. When the taxi dropped me off at my house, Mal asked the cabbie to wait and strolled up my stairs on weak knees and packed my bags for me, saying that I needed her. I simply watched as she threw my outfits and shoes inside a large suitcase. While I waited, listening to her go on about broken hearts and that’s what friends do, I’d noticed that my bedroom’s window was open; I didn’t remember leaving it like that. Maybe I was being paranoid but being paranoid was a better choice than being stupid and I’d afforded enough stupidity for a lifetime, so I let Mallory harbour me. Dracula had unlimited access to my house since I had invited him in and closed doors and windows were no hindrance to him, as he had proved. Mallory was my best bet of avoiding him and staying safe, for now, and I could keep an eye on her to make sure she would be truly okay.

Mallory acted like usual, her ramblings, her chipper attitude, her easy laughter at the silliest things. Mallory, as before. Mallory, my best friend from college. Mallory, who had a scar on the side of her neck just like mine and, therefore, wasn’t at all like before. All she’d asked me on the following day after the wedding was how we got all the way from Berkeley Castle to Gloucester and how much she had had to drink. As a test I’d asked how she’d gotten hurt and she looked at me, bewildered, and said “I got hurt?”. When Dracula told me she wouldn’t remember anything, I didn’t expect her to not remember a **_single_ ** thing. I’d prepared a lengthy explanation but threw it away in favour of Mal’s bite-induced amnesia. Even when I went to change the bandage on her neck, she barely acknowledged me and simply stared ahead with empty eyes. She didn’t seem to notice the bite when she looked in the mirror, but every day before leaving the house, without a fault, she wrapped a scarf around her neck as if covering it was instinctive. A useful little trick in Dracula’s sleeve, I presumed.

“Tomorrow marks ten days, right?” She asked and I nodded. She motioned for me to scoot over and flopped down on the bed. “Can I just say that it’s weird that he gave you an ultimatum?”

“I was the one who asked for time.”

“Still weird. I mean, it must have been a huge fight. You said he was massively pissed.” She trained her large eyes on me, like one of Diana’s cats did when it wanted food. “And I’ve never seen you like this, Y/N. I thought you’d open up if you stayed with me. You cried the whole trip back from Gloucester and now you won’t shed a tear. You won’t **_talk_ ** about him. You’re sulking, and you never sulk. For a day maybe, yeah, you’ll sulk and throw a pity party like you did when you broke up with Paul a few years back, but then you’ll make yourself busy.”

Back in Gloucester, during breakfast at my rented flat, Mal, with a wound on her throat and face as pale as her hair, insisted for me to tell her what had happened and why I couldn’t stop crying. I’d told her what I could: that I’d lied to him about something, he found out and did something terrible and wanted me to explain myself in 10 days. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Mal.”

“No, you never want to talk but that’s how you’ll heal. You’re on a rinse and repeat cycle of going to work, picking at your food, and then holing up in my guestroom with that poetry book. Where is it, by the way? Did you finally throw it away?”

I retrieved it from under the covers and set it on her lap. The book was warm to the touch. It slept with me, under the pillow or over my chest. Two days after the wedding, Mallory and I went to grab something to eat at a book cafe near our office. The cover, a large red rose overflowing from a jar as moths and butterflies decorated the edges, caught my eye and when I read the title announcing it to be a collection of Russian poetry, I instantly knew I had to have it. To find in those pages the tranquility I found inside Gloucester Cathedral; a moment in which I was wholly unreserved and Dracula had put his relentless pursuit of me on pause. A perfect memory in which I could have lived in forever.

“I thought you liked French poetry better,” Mallory said as she picked it up and opened it at random. “Why are you so obsessed with this book, anyway? Let’s see.” She took a deep breath and spit out the words on the page so fast that they barely sound like verses. “I love you, I love you and as I rage at myself for this obsession, and as I make my shamed confession, despairing at your feet I lie, blah blah blah, my one reward for a day’s anguish comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss. Okay, that part was nice.” She nodded in approval as her eyes skimmed down. “I dare not ask for love with all my many sins, both great and small, I am perhaps of love unworthy. God, that’s a bit depressing, isn’t it?”

“You found it!” The pages ruffled when I snatched the book from her hands. 

“Found what?”

“But if feigned love, if you would pretend, you’d easily deceive me. For happily would I, believe me, deceive myself if but I could!” I completed as I read through the last lines. “You found it, Mal, you’re brilliant.”

“I just opened the book.” She shrugged. “Were you looking for this poem in particular?” 

I nodded as I tried to read it from the start but my brain was foggy from sleep and the words weren’t making much sense.

“Oh my god,” Mal said and I looked up at her. “This has to do with Dracula, doesn’t it?”

“He recited it to me once. He told me it was Pushkin–”

“So you bought the book.” Mallory drew her eyebrows together. 

“Well, I couldn’t remember the exact words to google them and I was curious– stop making that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you watch Pride and Prejudice.”

She giggled. 

“Your ten days are up tomorrow. What are you going to tell him?”

I closed the book and let it rest near my knee. “I don’t know what I’ll say,” I finally said in a shaky voice. “I really don’t.”

“Maybe if you tell me what happened, I can help.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.” 

The bond wouldn’t let me utter a word about the true issue surrounding the Count to her; I suspected the loophole I’d found with Renfield and Zoe was because they already had previous knowledge of Dracula’s nature.

Mallory took my hand.

“I wish you’d cry, at least I would know what to do.”

I squeezed her hand as my eyes fell on her neck. A crystal choker covered the bite. She should be the one crying because she didn’t remember, because she had a gash at her throat that she didn’t recognise and because a monster of a man had attacked her. I should be the one taking care of her, not the way around. That’s why I’d bargained with Count Dracula in the first place.

“I do cry but only when I wake up,” I confessed. “The tears just come out of nowhere as soon as I open my eyes and then dry up when I realise I’m awake.” My voice wobbled at the last word and I slapped the pillow next to me. “Oh, now they come. Shit.” 

Mallory laughed at my frustration and made me lay my head on her lap. Tears fell in soft thuds to the duvet, running over my nose and eyes as Mallory smoothed my hair.

“It’ll be okay, lovey. He’ll understand if he likes you, whatever you did he’ll forgive–”

“He won’t, Mal.”

“He will, he’s gotta. I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. He was horrible. I don’t know how to begin to forgive him or if I **_can_ ** forgive him. He was nice to me and now I know that’s what mattered, that he was nice to me and only to me–” But he wasn’t nice just to me, he was also nice to Lucy. My chest constricted. “I don’t know if any of it was real or that he actually cares that he hurt yo– me,” I corrected. “He wants me as one wants precious jewels but that’s all it is. He wants to possess me.” The words were strung together between sobs. I barely understood myself so I knew Mal didn’t either but she still rubbed my shoulder to soothe me. “Why am I crying now? I’m done with crying and I **_don’t_ ** want to.”

I slammed a hand on the bed again but instead of the soft duvet, I found the book’s hard surface, and it hit me why I was crying. 

From the moment I bought the book, I held onto it as if my life depended on it, skimming through pages during work breaks, sneaking glances at it during lunch, reading it faithfully yet slowly so it wouldn’t end too fast in search of that Pushkin stanza. I’d buried myself in Russian poetry, those biting words that hung on the edge of everyone’s lips, unsaid but that rang true, so I wouldn’t have to dwell on what to say. Perhaps those words would become mine and I wouldn’t have to say anything, not now or ever, and by some magic Dracula would understand. Then Mallory found the verses and I realised I still didn’t have the words. What did I have left to hold onto now that I didn’t need to search for Pushkin’s poem? The sweetness I searched for amidst the sting of my bitterness was gone and that moment in the cathedral wasn’t worth anything if Dracula killed me tomorrow.

Ten days wasted on poetry and in a moment that I would never have again. I wasn’t even sure if my voice would work when I tried explaining it to him. All I had planned was that I would tell him somewhere public in the hope that he still had enough scruples left to not kill me in front of witnesses. 

“Diana called your phone when you were sleeping,” Mallory informed me as my sobs subsided. “Taking naps all afternoon and sleeping early won’t help you come up with an answer, you know.”

“It’s the only time when I don’t have to think about him.”

“You don’t dream about him?” She stopped playing with my hair for a second when I nodded and I felt a tug on a lock of hair. The slight resistance told me she was braiding my hair. 

“Just once since the wedding. I dreamt that he was driving and we were holding hands but then–” my hand was nearly crushed in his grip as he raised it to his mouth and tore my wrist open. Blood trickled down to his lap and a scarlet jet stained the windows. I smiled the whole time as he consumed me. “It wasn’t a good dream. Did you get Diana’s call?”

“Yeah. She’s worried about you, told me you only answered one of her calls since you came to stay with me. You have over 10 calls from your cousin, too.” 

“My cousin?”

“Yeah, don’t you have a cousin in Manchester named Zoe?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” I hadn’t spoken with my cousin for over two years and her number was saved only as ‘Zee’. “Did Zoe call when I was asleep?” I asked in a neutral tone. I ignored every call from Dr. Van Helsing and if Mallory had answered the phone thinking she was talking to my cousin–

“No, but she must be worried about you. Give her a call back,” she said. 

“I will,” I breathed, relieved. Eventually, I would talk to Zoe and tell her that I was done with her – that is, if I survived Count Dracula. With that, rose the question of why Zoe was still alive. Wouldn’t Dracula have killed her?

“Diana said she’s going up to Glasgow for work in a couple of days and that she wants to see you before that. I told her we could all grab lunch Thursday.”

“All right.” I sniffled and started getting up slowly so Mallory wouldn’t accidentally pull my hair. “I’m getting in the way of your night out, Mal.”

“Did you actually think I was going out?” She looked at me in disbelief. “It’s Monday, Y/N, we have work tomorrow. More importantly, I would never leave you here and go drinking.” I frowned as I gestured at her made up face. “I’m wearing PJ’s under my coat. I got ready in the hopes that you would suddenly change your mind when you saw me leaving the house and decide to actually move your arse out of bed,” she explained. I snorted. “A-ha, that was a near laugh!”

“That was a shit strategy. And you knew it wouldn’t work since you didn’t bother to change clothes.”

“Well, I tried everything else.” She jumped out of bed and peeled off the trench coat, revealing butterfly print pyjamas. “Come to the living room. We’ll order hamburgers and watch something.”

She was already leaving the room as I slipped out from under the covers.

“No rom-coms!” 

“I wouldn’t torture you like that!” She yelled back from the living room. “Is Harry Potter good enough for you?”

“Great.”

It was familiar enough for me to repeat the lines in sync with the character and keep me distracted. Tomorrow I would figure out how to tell Count Dracula. As I made the bed, I grabbed the book from under the pillow and fingered through the pages. Pushkin’s words didn’t jump out at me and I hadn’t memorised the page number when Mallory found it. For the best, probably. 

I set the book aside and went to the living room when Mal called my name. 

* * *

“L/N, can I see you before you go?” 

Talbot’s voice made Mallory and I stop on the way to the lift; my mobile chimed inside my purse and my fingers tightened around the purse’s strap. Another chime reached my ears as I turned back to meet Talbot with Mal on my heels. Whether she had followed me because a partner was summoning me and it was a good opportunity for her to be noticed or because she was fairly acquainted with my phone’s chimes and particularly what they meant today, I didn’t know, but I was glad to have her at my side anyway.

Golden orange sunlight refracting through a window hit my face when I stopped before Talbot and I forced myself to breathe properly. I still had a couple more minutes, an hour if I was being optimistic, before the sun went down and I had to meet Dracula, who didn’t seem to pay much attention to it; he had been texting me since four in the afternoon.

“Yes?” The word was strangled.

Talbot’s severe face didn’t seem to notice my anxious tone and simply nodded at Mallory before settling his cataract ridden eyes on me.

“Do you have anything on your schedule tomorrow at 3pm?”

“No, I don’t think I do, sir. Why?”

“I need you in court.” He handed me a thick manila folder he had hidden behind his back. 

“A new case?” I took the file automatically. “But sir, I’m already flooded with them. And court tomorrow? I won’t have the time to prepare–”

“Of course you’ll have time to prepare. You’ll have the rest of the day and night, and tomorrow until three. Pulling all-nighters is part of every **_good_ ** attorney’s job.”

I smothered an offended huff. 

“I’m aware, sir.” I paused, and my phone chimed again. I could feel my pulse on my throat. “Unfortunately, I have a commitment tonight and I can’t take this case. Mallory will gladly take it in my pla–”

“I’m sure Miss Nowak would do a wonderful job,” he considered her briefly “but this case can only be taken care of by you. It was originally Miss Grisham’s, your colleague, but she had to go under an emergency surgery yesterday – wicked things, spleens, don’t you think? – and the Judge on this case refused to reschedule a court date.” He scoffed. “Apparently, Grisham had already been granted several reschedules and Judge Llewellyn won’t have it again, which is precisely why this case must be yours. As I understand you have a win inside Llewellyn’s courtroom, which might bode well for you– for **_us_ **at the firm. Llewellyn is notoriously a difficult man and I hear he’s been mouthing good things about you. No one in this office has ever won before him, except for you and Renfield.”

My phone started ringing loudly and I gave my purse a thwack as if that would shut it up. Talbot eyed my purse.

“Sir, like I said, I have a personal engagement that I can’t dismiss. It’s best that I don’t take a new case. Give it to Mallory, she’ll do as good a job as I would and then this firm will have **_three_ ** lawyers with wins before Llewellyn.”

A new case meant I would have to prepare an opening statement, not to say I would have to spend countless hours studying every small detail to not be stomped to the ground by the prosecutor. The remaining sunlight only gave me a few more minutes to work out my own closing statement – the very last closing statement I would do in my life, perhaps, considering it was entirely dependent on Count Dracula’s verdict – if I took that case I would have to neglect it in favour of my own troubles.

“You’ll take it.”

“Sir, I can’t–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, L/N,” argued Talbot. “If your engagement has anything to do with your phone’s incessant noise–” as if by command, the tune stopped “–then turn it off. Whatever it is, it can be rescheduled. This case cannot.”

Rage built up my chest; I could swallow it down before it reached my throat but the lump there wouldn’t let it pass as easily as it would allow it to burst out. And I didn’t want to swallow it down so more rage could merge with heartache. I’d had enough with rage and I wouldn’t let Talbot bully me into something that I couldn’t do in the benefit of his own interests.

“Any lawyer here would be happy to do it. I **_can’t_ **,” I said as I offered him the file back. He opened his mouth to protest and didn’t accept the manila folder. “You don’t understand, you absolute c–”

“She’ll take it,” Mallory intervened, squeezing my arm and interrupting whatever name I was about to call him. One of Talbot’s eyes twitched as he evaluated me and he rose his chin, nodding at Mal for the interruption. 

“I see Nowak has managed to keep her sense. I hope she’ll teach you some.” He gestured towards the lift. “You may go. Do not disappoint me, L/N.” He turned on his heel and disappeared inside his office.

I started stalking after him, picturing his outraged face when I threw the file on his desk, but Mal jerked me back.

“Are you crazy?” She shook me. “You almost called a partner the c-word–”

“You can say he’s a cunt, it’s not like it’s a lie.”

“Y/N!” She exclaimed, looking around us as if to check if anyone had heard that. “Being angry won’t solve your crap, and you can’t just shrug off work because of a relationship. Focus. Dracula is just a guy but this is your **_job_ **. If he’s right for you he’ll understand. It’s not like he’ll die if he waits one more day so you two can talk.”

I stared out the window. My phone chimed, and then started ringing. The sun was still up and I wagered it would stay that way until I went home. As soon as it was dark, Dracula would be there. I could propose a meeting spot but I’d made enough demands – he had said so himself. He was done making concessions for me, and if I said one thing, one thing that didn’t please him, that sounded off to his ears, he would probably tear open my neck and leave me to die by myself on the quietness of my home. There were plenty of things in my speech that needed adjustments to prevent that, several things, actually, that I wasn’t sure I had worded properly. And I hadn’t rehearsed anything, either. 

“You know you’re not mad at Talbot,” Mallory said, as though she knew I was pondering the situation. “Dracula will understand.” 

My phone stopped ringing and then started shortly after. 

“He won’t stop calling until I answer him,” I said. But I’d already made my decision. I’d made it the moment Mallory said I would take the case. 

“Then turn off your phone. You’ll concentrate better. I’ll even help you,” she offered. I glanced at her. “I can see in your face that you’re dreading going home. You can stay at my house one more night, or how many more you want, and I’ll help you study your case. You’ll worry about Dracula tomorrow after the court session with Llewellyn , okay?”

Working this case was a perfectly reasonable excuse not to answer his calls and texts. It was good enough for me but I knew it wouldn’t be good enough for Dracula. It would give me more time to work on what to say, although I had the feeling that nothing I said would ever be good enough for him. 

What did matter if he had to wait one more day? I was dead anyway. 

“Okay,” I finally said. Mal smiled at me. I didn’t have the strength to retribute it.

“Text him and say you’ll see him tomorrow.”

I fished my phone out of my purse. The name ‘Count Dracula’ blinking on the screen made me frown. I pressed the button next to the screen until it went fully black.

“My phone battery is dead for all he cares.” I dumped the phone back in my purse. “Let’s go, Mal. Quickly. He’ll come here looking for me when he realises I’m not picking up.”

* * *

Count Dracula tilted his head as he watched the man crawl between tables, shoulders clumsily bumping into a table leg as he tried to hide. Sobs escaped his mouth. Dracula pushed one of the bodies at his feet with the heel of his shoe as the man shrunk into the darkness beneath the table. The man’s ragged breathing made the Count’s bloodstained lips twitch. He made a show of looking around the blackened interior of the pub, putting weight into his strides so the floorboards would creak as he stepped over another body, pretending that he couldn’t see him in his hiding place. 

This game of hide-and-seek never failed to amuse the Count but it wasn’t as fun in an enclosed space such as this. It made him miss his castle. If it was his castle, he would throw the man into one of the dungeon’s cells to play with him another moment. But here, in a London pub where he had already engorged himself until his cheeks were ruddy, he only had so much time before sunrise. He wasn’t thirsty anymore and he would have to go home soon to rest his head again, only to be assailed by dreams of Y/N. 

“I won’t hurt you,” Dracula declared, throwing his head back. The low ceiling had beer stains. The cleaning staff, the one dead at his feet, must not do a very good job of cleaning the place. “You can come out.” 

A whimper came from under the table but the man made no attempt to reveal himself. Dracula waited for a few seconds to give him a chance and then crossed the distance between them and lifted the table. Wide brown eyes filled with mindless fear stared up at Count Dracula in a skinny face. 

“Get up,” the Count demanded and discarded the table to the side, leaving the man without his illusion of protection. “Come sit with me.” He took a seat at a table at the centre of the pub and snatched a napkin from it. Red gloves of blood left stains on every white napkin he touched. The man – boy, from the looks of him – just watched and Dracula flicked dark eyes toward him. “ **_Now_ **.”

Slowly, so very slowly, the boy stood up and took small steps toward the table. He threatened to snap in half like a twig from all his shaking. Count Dracula motioned for him to take a seat as he wiped his face and hands with napkins. The boy sat.

“I think…” Dracula began. “No. What would you do in my place?”

“W-what?”

“I gave her ten days. Today is Tuesday, the tenth day, and she wasn’t at her house. She won’t answer my calls and my texts. She was at her office today but left early according to–” what was the woman’s name? Caroline? Christine? Camille? Ah, Chelsea. She’d slipped him her number before he left the office at Canary Wharf. He would have considered keeping it, if only to feed from her, but Y/N wouldn’t like that. Ten days could stretch into twenty or a month if he fed from Chelsea. “She’s avoiding me. What would you do?”

The boy stared at him, mouth opening and closing several times as he tried to formulate an answer. He glanced at the parade of dead bodies around them and then back at Count Dracula.

“Um, who is– hm. W-why is she av-voiding you?”

Dracula nodded, smiling lightly. He was impressed that the boy had managed to restrain his fear for a while but he knew very well the boy was merely entertaining him until he started bargaining for his life. They always did.

“I did something,” said Dracula.

“This kind of something?” He gestured with his head toward the body closest to them and then his face turned red and shuddered. 

“No.” He frowned. “Worse, I think. I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. What matters is that she’s avoiding me. I gave her ten days and she said we would talk. She said she knew not to flee. I can hunt for her but–” He threw the used napkins on the table, giving up on making himself presentable. There wasn’t any point to it with six bodies strewn metres away from him. “I don’t want to hunt what’s mine. She should come willingly.”

“Yeah,” the boy drew out. “But maybe she needs more time? I don’t know what you did, man, but if it was worse than this–”

“I bit her friend,” Dracula admitted. 

The boy gaped.

“I– I’m sure you had a good reason to.”

“Are you?”

“I only mean–” he said, hunching his shoulders. “I mean, I… I don’t know?”

Count Dracula tipped in his chair and balanced himself so he could lever his feet on the table and cross them. Black leather shoes with small rounded dents at the tips shone at him. He hadn’t worn another pair since the wedding, when Y/N’s heels left those prints there. He didn’t know what that meant. He only knew that he couldn’t remember Y/N’s smile with the same clarity that he could remember her face stricken with black tears.

“Did she cheat on you?” The boy tried.

Dracula laughed mirthlessly.

“In a manner, but she assured me that she had stopped.”

“So, uh, why did you kill her friend?”

“I didn’t kill Mallory. I bit her, that’s all.” He’d bitten her without Y/N’s explanation, which he still didn’t have. “Do you think I exaggerated?”

“Um– uh, no?”

“I don’t like liars.”

“I’m sorry. Sorry.” The boy rubbed his nose. “My name is Trent.” Dracula’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand the relevance of that. “I’m only 19. I live in Whitechapel with my parents and sisters. I’ve got three cats–”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dracula glared at him. And then chuckled. “Oh, are you attempting to sensitize me about who you are so I won’t kill you? I’ve seen that on TV. People have been using that trick for centuries, too. It’s never worked on me. In fact, I think it’s kind of fun. First name basis is important, isn’t it? Makes things more intimate when I kill you.” He bared his teeth at the boy in a grin. “I asked you a question, Trent.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

The words echoed. Y/N had said the same. Dracula massaged the bridge of his nose.

“I changed my mind. Maybe it’ll change again if you answer me.”

Trent shook violently again and started rocking back and forth in his seat.

“I forgot what you asked me.”

“Do you think I exaggerated?” Dracula repeated. The boy looked around them. “Not about this. I know you might believe this is a bit much but it helps me not to think. However, I’m in need of a good talk now. So amuse me, Trent. Do you think I shouldn’t have bitten Mallory?”

“Uh. This other girl you've been talking about… Do you fancy her?” Trent’s thin eyebrows arched, trying to summon a serious expression. Dracula merely bobbed his head. “And you said she’s, huh, yours.” He looked at Dracula and he nodded again. “From what you’re telling me, you want her back. If she’s avoiding you, maybe she’s scared?” His eyes widened as if he realised he’d said something wrong. “Or, or, or! Or maybe she’s waiting for an apology?” He shrugged. “Did you try talking to her, eh, before you bit this Mallory bird?”

The Count ignored the last question.

“She owes **_me_ ** an apology.”

“Yeah, sure she does,” the boy agreed. “But don’t you think you oughta apologise, too? I mean… uh. I don’t know. I’ve never been cheated on but I don’t think **_biting_ ** someone is the right way to go about it.”

Maybe not. 

Maybe if he had asked Y/N about it, he wouldn’t have to wait ten days to speak to her. If he had, she wouldn’t have cried. It could have been a terribly simple explanation and she would have kissed him again. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone on a murder rampage for the last days to keep memories of Y/N from permeating his every dream and thought.

Or, and it was just as likely, it wasn’t simple at all. She had learnt how to lie to him. He was certain that she could have lied about everything. It could all have been an act to fool him – the sudden interest in the taste of blood, her questions about his life before a vampire and after, her rare ability to see through him sometimes, the gleam in her eyes at the cathedral… The kiss. But the utter betrayal in her face, the acrid smell of fear, how her voice trembled as she wept, those weren’t false. When she said yes to him, covered in her friend’s blood with her dress ruined and hair in shambles, he knew she had spoken the truth. She had no other reason to lie after what he had done. And now, he found himself doubting if everything else was **_not_ **all lies. 

It didn’t matter. 

He had destroyed it. And he knew that if he could go back in time to fix it, he would have done it all the same. She confused him. She had made a fool out of him like no one else had in half a millennia, and she would make a fool out of him for the next millennia as well. Despite what she had done, she was his, whether she liked it or not. He was willing to wait a few more days for her to come to him.

Count Dracula massaged the bridge of his nose again. 

“Thank you, Trent.”

The boy’s heart drummed, his blood streaming inside of him in rapid currents. Dracula could hear the noise it made, like a wind howl against a window.

“Are you gonna let me go?” 

“Yes, I will.” He flashed the boy a quick smile. “Although you haven’t been much help, I’m feeling merciful right now.” Trent exhaled a shaky breath and started getting up. “One last thing” – the boy looked up at that, watery brown eyes filled with alarm again – “you didn’t say… what would you do in my place?”

“Uhh–” he paused, panic flaring up and making the drumming in Dracula’s ears become louder. “Show that you care? Apologise if you want her back. She’ll apologise, too.” Dracula just stared. “Or do something nice for her. Especially nice.” Trent sniffled. “That’s what my dad does when my mum is mad at him, and it works.”

Trent waited as Dracula nodded, and then started shuffling across the pub in a slow pace as if he was doing his best not to draw attention.

He eyed the dents on his shoes and felt Y/N’s lips on his. He couldn’t wait five or ten years to feel them again and in order to have that, he would have to make amends. But then he thought of all the lies again and the taste of Mallory’s blood pouring down his throat and all the memories that came with it. A pungent reminder of how unreasonable he had become since meeting Y/N. 

Trent was almost at the exit door.

“On second thought!” He called, planting both feet on the slippery red floor. The boy turned around to look at him and Count Dracula bared sharp teeth as he stood up from his seat. “I feel like having dessert.”

The boy ran.

His fingers brushed the doorknob but didn’t manage to grip it. Dracula blocked the way. Trent squealed and his entire body trembled in such force that the Count thought he could hear his bones rattling. He smiled at that and grabbed the boy’s shoulder to stop him from scuttling away. 

Trent was as pale as a sheet, so much so that it was difficult to make out defining features on his face, but the shapeless, quivering thing on his face was most definitely a bottom lip moving as his teeth chattered.

“Ah, don’t be like that. I’ll make it quick, as a thanks.” Dracula stroked the boy’s cheek, pointed nails grazing the skin, and he shuddered. “Truly, you gave me quite the idea. But you see, it’s almost dawn, and I need a last bedtime snack to clear my head. You just so happen to be nearby.”

“Please, I–”

“No, no, no, no. Begging won’t get you anywhere and I’ve heard enough of ‘please’ tonight. I’ll make it quick and you won’t beg. Are we agreed?” He cocked an eyebrow. Trent shut his eyes and nodded. Dracula patted his face. “Good boy.”

Dracula turned Trent’s face to the side. He was met with no resistance as he lowered his head to tear through the soft flesh on the boy’s neck. Trent stopped trembling as Dracula’s teeth slashed deep and blood flowed inside his mouth. Memories started materialising but he ignored it and allowed himself to be swept away until nothing else invaded his mind except the taste of blood, its warmth cascading over his body and leaving him no choice but to be inundated with unrestrained elation. 

He swallowed hurriedly and, in no time, the flow became sluggish and he began taking it less urgently. If he drank too fast, he would miss it. He waited for it to come as one waits for the first rain to pour, waits for it to wash remains, and to bring restoration. Ecstasy flitted across his deepest thoughts only to be replaced with perfect numbness. Sublime anesthesia and a brief glimpse into the true death he would never feel.

The emptiness he sought, the complete erasure of all thoughts, was the one thing that brought him relief and wiped the image of Y/N’s face. Her rancour and her grief that turned those eyes cruel to cut through him when she saw him with Mallory but, worst of all, the resignation that made her voice docile, almost cowed when she begged him for time. It touched something in him. Something that made him desperate to get rid of it, so abnormal was this sensation, that his only solution was to engorge himself with blood. 

Only she had this effect on him. Usually he was picky with his food, choosing when should each dish be savoured and in which order. All it took for that to change was for Y/N to look him in the eye at the Victoria and Albert Museum and say that taking her there was the nicest thing someone had ever done for her. And he simply couldn’t understand that, couldn’t understand he had enjoyed knowing that, that he had enjoyed making her happy, and that he was possibly growing infatuated by her. Not in the way he had grown attached to Agatha or Johnny. It was entirely different; a foreign **_feeling_ **. It had driven him to feast on a board of directors in an attempt to obliterate the memory. And it had worked for a little while but each time she managed to pull at his control until he wasn’t sure if he had any control whatsoever.

Dracula dropped Trent’s lifeless body. 

The anesthesia had faded and here he was, thinking of Y/N again. 

He groaned in frustration, wiped his chin and left the darkened pub with its new decor of blood carpets and artfully painted walls.

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is not too lackluster... I wasn't in the "right" mindset to write this chapter, in my opinion - having a little bit of a manic phase which doesn't go well with angst or feelings.  
> Just realised that the scene with Dracula is a good way to open spooktober, heh. More to come in the future, maybe?


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

My ears rang with the grating sound of Judge Llewellyn’s voice projecting inside the courtroom. I glanced at my wristwatch. The session should have been over at 4.30pm but it was now past 5. Through the window closest to me, I could see that the sky had lost its orange clouds amidst light blue in favour of pinks and deep blues. Dracula would start calling me incessantly at any moment now, like he’d done yesterday.

Surreptitiously, I slid a hand on my trousers’ front pocket and grabbed my phone. I eased back on my seat to glimpse the screen from under the table. Jane Grisham’s client – my newest client as of yesterday, actually – huffed at my side but I ignored him; my problem was life or death, his was the possibility of ten years in prison which he well deserved. 

No messages from Count Dracula so far, except the ones from last night. I scrolled up the texts. Odd. I dared bring the phone closer to check if my phone was on airplane mode to justify this but I could see three bars at the top indicating that I had signal.

“Are we **_boring_ **you, Miss L/N?”

I scrambled into a proper posture as I clicked the phone off and hurriedly put it back in my pocket. My eyes met Judge Llewellyn’s up in his pulpit and I forced an innocent smile at his chiding stare.

“Apologies, my lord. Please proceed.”

The prosecutor, a scrawny old man, raised a contemptuous eyebrow at me before he continued scribbling on a notebook. Llewellyn was nearing the end of the session, going over court dates and times, which was indeed boring, and I knew he would email the details later to make sure nobody made any mistakes, so his speech wasn’t as important as he thought.

I rubbed the corners of my eyes as much as my make up would allow to try and clear the sensation that I had sand in my eyes from lack of sleep. I’d gotten only two hours of sleep – that is, if I combined all the moments I nodded off when shuffling through files, otherwise I wouldn’t say I’d slept at all. I had spent the night staring at the window until sunrise, listening to every minimal sound that could indicate that Count Dracula had found me hiding in Mallory’s guestroom. When Mallory finally woke up earlier that morning, I had already gotten ready for work, stuffed all my things back in my suitcase, made us breakfast and sat down with a cup of untouched tea to mull over what I was going to say to Dracula. By the time Mallory and I left for work, I was confident with my little speech but as the day stretched on and exhaustion settled over me, I doubted that I was capable of many coherent thoughts. Facing Count Dracula when my head was a jumble and I could scarcely keep my eyes open wasn’t ideal but I had no other choice. My ten days were beyond over.

Llewellyn briefly interrupted himself as the courtroom’s door opened with a creak. He regarded whoever had entered the courtroom before resuming. Clicking heels approaching me made me turn my head just in time to see Mallory taking a seat behind me with the audience, a stern look on her face.

Without turning away from the court, I leaned back to give her my ear.

“St Thomas Hospital called me just now, they’re letting Renfield out,” she whispered. My foot bumped into the table as if I had just been shocked by high voltage. My mouth opened and closed. None of what Mallory had just said made sense. She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Dracula vouched for him to leave, he’s one of Renfield’s emergency contacts, apparently. The nurse told me that Dracula called them to say that you will be picking up Renfield after release hours tonight because you’re caught up in court duty. Renfield gave the nurse my number so I could notify you. Y/N, how did Dracula know you’d be in court until late? Is he stalking you?”

My head started spinning from the moment Mallory said Dracula had vouched for Renfied, and I failed to process the rest of what she’d said. 

Was he taunting me because the ten days were up? Was it a threat to Renfield’s life? A threat that he could hurt the people around me because I didn’t abide to his deadline? 

“We’re adjourned,” Llewellyn declared, and I shot up from my seat at once, gathering my things as quickly as I could before striding out of the courtroom with Mallory at my side; my client forgotten.

“Y/N, is he stalking you?” she asked again when we were at the Royal Courts of Justice’s halls.

“I don’t know! Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“You can’t keep seeing him if he is.”

“I don’t really have a choice in that matter, Mal,” I scoffed. She grabbed my elbow to make me look at her. Noting her scowl, I continued, “He’s a client, I can’t deny seeing him if he requests.” It wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the proper explanation either.

“Don’t play stupid with me, you know what I meant. Y/N, if he’s dangerous–”

“He is. He is very dangerous but I can deal with him,” I said, forcing my voice to sound strong to make me believe it, too. I untangled myself from Mallory. “I’ve got to go pick up Renfield. Talk to you later, Mal.”

* * *

“Miss? We’re here,” said the cabbie.

By his tone I knew he had said it at least once before and I hadn’t heard him. 

Renfield should be waiting for me inside St Thomas Hospital with his bags packed and a harmless, sane look in his eyes, at least I hoped. Count Dracula could be waiting in there, too, waiting for me to walk right into his arms. If I was smarter and less tired, I would give the cabbie Mallory’s address, but I couldn’t run forever. 

I rubbed my forehead. Exhaustion made it harder to evaluate all the possible consequences if I walked out of the car and into the hospital. 

“Can you wait for me here?” I finally said to the cabbie. “I’m picking up someone and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“No problem,” he said, glancing at the taximeter with a small smile in his mouth.

I considered my suitcase in the backseat and left, unconcerned. There wasn’t anything valuable in there to a cabbie, unless he had a secret propensity for crossdressing. 

My legs guided me through the hospital as if I was on autopilot while I cast furtive glances at every corner. More than once my heart sank when I saw a tall silhouette at the end of a hallway until I realised it was too short or too skinny to be Count Dracula.

Breathing was a hard task when I neared the psych ward but it was too late to turn back. People passed me, watery eyes and runny noses as a little girl complained that her dad sounded funny and asked her mother why dad drooled all the time and wouldn’t blink. The mother looked at me and I focused ahead of me, pretending I hadn’t heard any of that. 

Nurse Margaret greeted me with a warm smile when I stopped at the nurse’s station inside the psych ward.

“Wondered if you’d really come. Your fiancée said you were quite busy.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“My what?”

“Your fiancée,” she repeated, enunciating the word clearly like I’d missed it the first time. “He called earlier and said that Mr. Renfield will be getting his treatments from home now and that you’d come tonight to sign his release forms.”

“He’s not my fiancée.”

“Oh. I must’ve heard him wrong, then, but I’m sure he said the word bride…” her gaze was lost in thought for a moment.

“Where do I sign?” I asked with more than a touch of impatience. 

Margaret frowned lightly at my rudeness but retrieved a thin stack of papers from below her desk. Using a pen, she pointed at several paragraphs while she repeated without reading, almost word for word, what was written. Because Renfield had been committed on account of violent behaviour he would have to attend psychotherapy sessions inside St Thomas Hospital and see a psychiatrist every fifteen days – Nurse Margaret informed me that the normal procedure was usually every week but Renfield’s doctor had seen fantastic improvement and decided that fifteen days was more adequate in his case until he was deemed mentally healthy. She showed me where to sign and reminded me at each turn of a page that Renfield would be under my responsibility since I was permitting his release. When I was done signing everything, Margaret left to get Renfield.

Minutes rolled by and I paced around the waiting room like I was a caged beast, peering around corners, breath hitching in my chest whenever I heard a man’s voice. Clicking high heels drew me out to the hallway and I exhaled in relief upon seeing Renfield striding next to Nurse Margaret and a male nurse carrying a box. He was dressed in the very same clothes he had been wearing the morning he attacked me but they were clean and looked a little bigger on his frame than they did before. His glasses slid down his nose as he walked. They were too big for his face but he never wore another pair, even when I gave him new ones on his birthday. I smiled as he pushed them back over the bridge of his nose. Stubborn man. He smiled back.

“Happy to leave?” I asked him. 

“You’ve got no idea,” he replied, and surprised me by planting a kiss to my forehead. I froze for a second. He was usually awkward about physical contact with almost anyone. Therapy must have driven another man to crawl out of him. “You didn’t come visit me last week. How was the wedding?”

“Not great,” I said, staring into his eyes. They didn’t change, so I assumed he didn’t know what had happened. He could also be wearing his courtroom face which was just as good as mine, better even. 

At that, Margaret said her goodbyes with a warm smile and told us that Roger, the slender nurse carrying a cardboard box, would accompany us down with Renfield’s books. I noticed Renfield analysing me as I fidgeted inside my shoes and forced myself to stop. Roger tried to make small talk on the way out but I couldn’t give him more than a few words.

The taxi was parked in the same exact spot as before. The cabbie nodded at me, blowing out smoke before throwing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it. My feet hurt as I hurried towards him and my worry subsided a little. I’d made it. Renfield was out and I hadn’t seen Count Dracula. It wasn’t a trap but I still didn’t understand his true intention by doing so. 

The cabbie opened the door for me and I entered the car, relaxing in my seat to feel the coolness of the window against my forehead. Roger placed the box next to me so when Renfield took a seat, it laid between us.

“Why am I out?” Renfield asked in the short pause it took for the cabbie to close our door and round the car towards the driver’s seat.

I stared at him.

“If you don’t know, what makes you think I would?”

“You’re his brid–” Renfield cut the word short when the cabbie threw himself behind the wheel. He leaned forward and gave the cabbie his address. When he spoke to me again, his voice was low over the sound of the car’s engine. “From my experience, the Count isn’t particularly kind and I know he would never do this for me, especially after my little outburst. There must be a reason for this benevolence.”

“At the wedding he said that you could have some of his things shipped from Romania to London. Maybe he has need of them now.”

Renfield gave me a lopsided smile. It was usually the smile he reserved for cross examining witnesses. A venomous snake just before it struck.

“The wedding. Something happened there, didn’t it?” He inquired. I chose to look out of the window instead of facing him. “You won’t look at me, which means I’m right. Please tell me you were smart enough to listen to what I told you.”

_Surrender with arms wide open or he’ll hurt you and those around you. Listen to me. He will._

I surrendered but not fast enough. Not fast enough to take back everything I had done.

“I really should have listened to you,” I confessed. “He did exactly what you said he would.”

“Even though he’s lived a long time, patience isn’t one of his virtues, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t lack of patience,” I muttered. “Actually, he’s been nothing if not patient with me. I went behind his back and it blew up in my face, and you don’t need to chastise me about it. I’ve got enough guilt as it is.”

“What did he do?”

A weird question from him. Finally, I met his eyes again and was surprised to find that I knew the man behind them. 

“Mallory,” I said as a means of explanation. There wasn’t much we could say with the cabbie listening. “She’s okay, though.”

“So are you,” Renfield said as he extended a hand and brushed my hair away from my neck. 

“For now. I owe him an explanation, which I was supposed to give it to him yesterday but work happened. I’m not sure how he’ll–” I regarded Renfield for the second time that night. “You’re worried about me?”

“Of course I am.” He frowned, seemingly offended that I had to ask. “I wear glasses but I’m not completely blind. You haven’t been sleeping,” he said as he tapped under his eye. Covering my dark circles with a decent amount of concealer obviously didn’t disguise it enough. “And you were fidgeting inside the hospital because you were afraid of encountering Count Dracula. Cowardice is a horrible look on you, Y/N.”

“You haven’t asked me what I did to Dracula.”

“It mustn’t have been good to drive him towards Mallory. And why should it matter what you did to him? It’s no excuse.”

“Oh, my god,” I murmured, staring at him in shock as I pieced it together. The kiss to the forehead, his concern, the completely sane look to his eyes... 

“What? Did you think I’d defend him if he **_hurt_ ** you?”

“He released you,” I said. Renfield’s frown deepened as he looked from me to the hospital like I had just stated the obvious. “He released you from him,” I spoke quietly so the cabbie wouldn’t hear it but Renfield did. His face paled until it was stark white in the car’s low light. 

“No…”

“Would you ever speak of him this way if he hadn’t?”

He shook his head.

Letting Renfield out of the hospital wasn’t a threat or a ploy to get me. It was a gift. However dim the possibility, my brain latched on to the idea that it wasn’t simply a gift, but an apology. Being merciful wasn’t at all like Dracula. It wouldn’t fix what he had done but it was something. If he had freed Renfield out of the goodness of his heart or if he had done it for ulterior motives, it didn’t really matter. I had begged for Renfield and offered myself up in exchange and Dracula had dismissed my attempts. Before, he had never cared how much that hurt me. And now this; an abrupt kindness to make up for his deeds. 

“He wouldn’t– no,” Renfield grumbled. “Why– he, he can’t… he can’t do this to me. I’ll be alone.”

“You’ll have me,” I retorted.

“No, you’re his. I know you are. It’s in your eyes, and you want it, too. You’ll be like him and who will I be, hm?” His voice was thin but carried the weight of restrained emotion. “Nobody, I’ll be nobody. In a few years the both of you won’t even remember me.”

To my horror, twin tears streamed down his face. 

Dracula had called him weak once, and suddenly I understood why he could see Renfield like that. Renfield himself had said that he didn't exist without Count Dracula but I’d deduced he had been made to believe that as a slave. His weeping told of an abandonment I couldn’t understand, and hoped never would. As much as I dreaded the idea, some people can only fathom existence if they have a leash around their neck to guide them. Sometimes the leash is religion or politics, and least often it is a centuries old vampire. It comforted Renfield, I supposed, this feeling of unquestionable certainty, and to have that teared away debased him. 

Revulsion wrapped its claws around my ankles until it creeped up to my face in a scowl. It wasn’t Renfield’s fault that this world had made him like this and I shouldn’t blame him for wanting direction under a tight fist of a warlord, and yet I found that an ugly part of me despised him for it. Did that mean I shared something in common with Count Dracula? One of his defects? 

“It’ll pass,” I told Renfield, looking out the window. “You’ll find your footing again soon. And no matter what you think or what happens, I’ll remember you.”

Despite his desolation, I was glad that he was back to himself. If it made me selfish, so be it. Although I wasn’t sure I was more pleased that Renfield was himself again or that Dracula had done it for me. 

When we arrived at Renfield’s flat in Chelsea, he refused any help to carry his belongings out of the car, so he stumbled out with the cardboard box and his small suitcase. At my request, the cabbie waited until I was sure Renfield was safe inside his building and then I gave him my address. 

I fished my phone from my purse and skimmed through my texts. Still none from Dracula. My fingers started typing before I could really think about what I was doing.

* * *

Count Dracula knocked briefly on Lucy’s balcony door before opening it. She had been lying on her stomach, texting someone, but turned around to greet him with a kittenish grin. The bed’s covers were instantly thrown away with a swift movement to expose her legs. 

“Finally! I thought you were giving up on me,” she exclaimed, rising on the bed to stand on her knees. He allowed her to pull him closer by his jacket’s lapels but when she neared his lips, he turned his face slightly to the side and she kissed only the corner of his mouth. “Nobody ignores my texts, you know.”

“Alas, I did”– he raised an eyebrow– “but you were begging for me and I had to come to put an end to it.”

That elicited another grin from her. A few days ago he would have found it charming, it was odd that it didn’t get a reaction out of him now. He hadn’t spent time with Lucy ever since before the wedding, so maybe that’s all he needed to warm up to her again – time. 

“Tell me you’re taking me out tonight,” she goaded, pouting.

“Don’t you have class tomorrow morning?”

“Yes but–”

“Then no.” He pushed her back on the bed and she fell with a laugh. “I’d rather do this,” he murmured as he climbed on top of her. 

She wriggled under him, doing her best to incite him as she rubbed her neck near his mouth, her hips twisting in need as her legs wrapped about his waist to brush up against him. He let her touch him, and he waited for desire to rise. She whined when he didn’t respond to her advances. 

Nothing stirred in him. He rolled off of her, throwing an arm over his face. His arm was lifted not a second later and he glanced at Lucy as she wrapped it around herself to snuggle up to his chest. He patted her shoulder, gazing up at the star pattern stamped on Lucy’s ceiling. Releasing Renfield should appease Y/N, which is what he wanted, but so far there was no news from her. He couldn’t stay in his home pacing around as he waited for a call. And then Lucy’s text had arrived and he decided it was better to go distract himself. No use so far.

“Did you have fun on your trip?” She asked him softly.

“Up to a point.”

“Did you miss me?”

“No, not really,” he said. Lucy chuckled, as she always did whenever he was too serious. He wasn’t sure if she interpreted his seriousness as a joke or if she laughed it off because she didn’t know how to react. 

“But you’re here,” she continued.

“It seems so, yes.”

He could tell that she wanted him to say that he had missed her but he wouldn’t lie. If she was hurt, then it was for the best. 

Lucy quickly maneuvered herself so she could straddle him. His hands automatically went to her thighs as she settled in a comfortable position. 

“Okay, so you didn’t come here to talk or to take me out.” Lowering her body over his, she popped a button on his shirt. Then another. “We can do other stuff, more interesting stuff…” Another button opened and she splayed her hands on his chest, stroking his skin. She moved her hips back and forth over his and his body stirred in response. Ah, so he wasn’t completely immune to her, it seemed. When she leaned in to kiss him, he let her. He breathed in her scent, and the charm was broken as swiftly as it had begun. It wasn’t the smell of honey he so longed for. “You’re being weird,” Lucy mumbled against his lips before pulling back to observe him.

Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to relax, concentrating on wiping Y/N’s scent from his brain. He covered Lucy’s hands with his own when he felt a tug on another button. Her fingers persisted but a light squeeze on them made her stop.

“How come?” 

“It’s fine if you don’t want to fuck because god knows all you want to do is drink me but you’re barely touching me, and usually you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” She wiggled her hips. “You’re not even hard, and I’m really trying here, Drac.” He laughed at her pout. She had never looked so offended since he’d met her and he had said things to her that would make anyone’s blood curdle. “It’s not funny. I was right that time, wasn’t I? You really don’t want me anymore.”

He opened his mouth to answer her, then his phone vibrated in his pocket, and froze. Lucy narrowed her eyes at him and glanced at the lit screen shining through the fabric of his trousers. She plucked his phone out, swatting his hands away when he tried to take it from her, and pushed off of his lap. He gripped thin air when she scooted out of the bed. He clenched his jaw. Lucy’s bratty behaviour was something he had learnt to enjoy but he didn’t find anything fun about it now.

“Give it to me, Lucy,” he said, holding out a hand as he sat. She bit her lip and shook her head to the sides as the phone lit her face from beneath. “Fine, then. Read the message aloud, please.”

“ _I’m heading home now if you want to talk. And thank you._ ” She read, making a face. “Who’s Y/N?”

Dracula grinned. A thank you from her was enough to bring him contentment, more than Lucy’s playful nature ever would. That boy from the pub, Trent, was apparently correct in saying that doing something nice for her might draw her out. If Dracula knew the outcome would be so perfect, he would have spared him for that alone. 

“My lawyer,” he said, his grin widening. “Give it back to me, Lucy.”

She placed the phone in his palm with an eye roll before sprawling on the bed again.

“Is she the reason why you’re leaving me?”

“How could I leave you if we weren’t together to begin with?”

“Ouch.”

“I swore I’d be sincere with you from the start, and I also told you this wouldn’t become a relationship. Save your ‘ouch’,” he told her, smirking. 

Taking advantage that Lucy appeared momentarily distracted by his words, he opened his texts. Beneath Y/N’s text, there was an opened one from Chelsea. He deleted it without reading it. She’d given him her number yesterday and while he thought to discard it, he was glad he hadn’t. After all, it was useful so he could find out when Y/N would be leaving work and Chelsea, appealing to gain his attention, had kindly provided the information that Y/N would be busy with court until late. It gave him a small window to call the hospital until the message reached her that Renfield was being released. Cutting the servitude ties to Renfield was as simple as closing a door. It opened another so he could make his way back to Y/N.

A sniffle drew his attention up as he was typing. Lucy turned her face toward him from where she lied, batting wet eyelashes at him.

“Lucy… Crying over me?” He smiled. “Didn’t you tell me you couldn’t get your heart broken and that you would be the one doing the heart breaking?”

“I’m crying because I never thought someone would **_reject_ ** me.” She huffed, and he laughed again, earning him a light, playful smack on the shoulder. “It’s sort of **_absurd_ **.”

“You’re irredeemably spoiled.”

“I know.” She wiped the tears before crawling into his lap and pushing his arms away so she could fit between them. His phone was cast somewhere among her pillows. Lucy’s curls bounced as she settled on top of him and he smoothed them, being careful not to accidentally pull one. The time he’d done that, Lucy had made his ears ring from complaining so much. “But you like me anyway?” He simply nodded. “Hm. Can I meet her?”

“What?” He asked, as if his hearing had failed for the first time in centuries.

“Can I meet Y/N?”

“Why?”

“I want to see what I’m up against.”

“It’s not a competition, Lucy–”

“Okay. But what if–” she gave him a malicious smile “–c’mon, imagine… If I like her too, then maybe the three of us–”

“Lucy–”

“No, hear me out. It’s actually brilliant, and it’d be fun. I’ve never done anything like it. And if you make her a vampire too–”

“Lucy, stop.” He shook her lightly, making her furrow her eyebrows. “It could be fun, yes. Terribly fun, actually,” he said as he considered the image Lucy’s suggestion conjured. “But it’s not happening. None of it.”

“None of it?” She repeated. 

“None, dear,” he asserted. A smile struggled on the corners of his mouth. He had come to see Lucy for one reason but now he wondered his true motivation. Had he known what he was doing, subconsciously? “I won’t come to see you anymore.”

She gaped.

“You’re going to let me wither and die, aren’t you?” she accused.

He chuckled, tilting his head.

“I trust you’ll find some inventive way to kill yourself before you reach old age.”

“You are my inventive way! You promised me eternal life, that I’d pretty forever–”

“Lucy…” he grabbed her jaw to make her stop talking and she whined, although her eyes twinkled slightly at his bruteness. “I really don’t care. I’ve made my decision.”

Tears appeared on her eyes.

“Oh, please, stop with the crying,” he requested, cupping her cheek so a thumb could catch a fat tear before it spilled. He licked it, savouring the salt of her hurt. “I’ve had to deal with vast amounts of it lately and I don’t deserve your tears. They won’t get you anywhere with me.” He sighed. “I don’t want you anymore, Lucy, but it has nothing to do with you. I’ve simply found what I was looking for in someone else. And in her alone.” He smiled. “Y/N is my perfect fruit.”

“You don’t have to be mean,” she grumbled. 

“You’ve never seen me being mean. I realise now that I said the same words to you once and I thought them to be true at the time but not anymore. I don’t regret our time together, Lucy, and I’ll enjoy remembering it years from now. This is goodbye.”

Delicately, he started pushing her out of his lap but she grappled on to him. If she continued being a brat he might have to pry her hands away. When he gazed into her eyes he glimpsed in them an unforeseen sobriety. He hadn’t thought she was capable of it. 

“You won’t make me a vampire. I don’t want to grow old, and I won’t, so before you leave me, will you give me death? A sweet, tragic death that will make people wail at my funeral and say “oh poor Lucy, gone so soon”? Pretty, pretty please?”

“Vain until your last moments, aren’t you, Lucy?”

“Always,” she proclaimed with a proud tilt of her chin. “Give me at least that if you’re going to dump me. What’s there to live for anyway?”

Dark eyes studied her face as he inhaled her scent. There was no fear tainting his senses. Lucy never feared anything from him which was what had drawn him to her at first, yet it wasn’t powerful enough to hold his interest. She didn’t want more out of life except for death. In that sense, Y/N and Lucy were entirely opposites. One couldn’t live forever if life’s eternal paths didn’t interest them; at least Y/N searched for something worth living for. 

“Are you serious?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. She nodded solemnly. “Death is not a caprice. You can’t take it back, Lucy. If this is your last hope that I’ll keep you, that I’ll suddenly change my mind at the last second, then you underestimate me.”

“I’m **_dead_ ** serious,” she said, widening her eyes at her own joke. Dracula’s expression didn’t change. “I am, Drac. And why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Then do it,” she urged before brushing her hair away and exposing her neck to him.

Scars marked her neck and he bent forward instinctively, like it beckoned him closer. Lucy leaned in, her tiny chest heaving next to his, and he enveloped her in a tight embrace. Choosing to kill Lucy would leave only Y/N in his path, by doing it he would kill yet another bride, the one he was most certain would survive the metamorphosis. However glorious was that possibility there was nothing about Lucy that would make him want her as a companion. 

“As a last courtesy…” he whispered, laying his lips on a vein. Her pulse accelerated and the vein jumped, coaxing him to take it cautiously between his teeth. “Lucy, my darkling… I’ll be your easeful Death.” He smiled at his own quotation but she didn’t seem to quite catch it. Y/N would have understood it. She stimulated everything in him, and managed to ignite parts of him that had been long forgotten. He hungered for her like he hungered for blood. What did Lucy do to him? Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

His teeth cut through her and she slumped, melting into him. The taste of her blood was familiar and did not sing to him as it once did. He devoured her methodically. A flavorless drink, like an alcoholic’s bottle of choice. She didn’t move once, not even when death’s spasms should have seized her body.

Once she grew cold, utterly depleted of blood, he laid her on the bed, arranged the covers around her and fluffed the pillows. After considering it, he closed her eyes with the tips of his fingers and fixed the crown of curls about her head. Her dainty lips were slightly parted in her pout. A pretty picture for her mother to find – sweet and tragic, like Lucy had asked. He admired her for a moment and nodded in approval. It had been fun and if she wanted death, it was only right that he gave it to her.

Dracula’s shirt clung to the sides of his chest, dampened by the little blood that had escaped his mouth. He considered the dark swirls of hair on his chest muddled by red liquid; a shower was in order when he got home. His shirt made a muffled, wet sound as he buttoned it up.

His phone rested near Lucy’s shoulder. The screen was smeared with red but it was no trouble seeing through it as he opened Y/N’s message again. 

It would be late at night until he made himself presentable to her, and she would be tired until then. Killing a bride in favour of another also occupied his mind more than he expected. Y/N had ensnared him, completely. He was used to it being the other way around. He had given her time and in that time he had done nothing but kill to cleanse himself from her. It hadn’t worked. Perhaps it was time he did some reflection of his own, before they met again.

> **Truce for now, we meet tomorrow. You’re welcome.**

“She’s making me soft,” he muttered to himself. He eyed Lucy and rose an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you say so, dear?”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was a struggle, especially the last scene. Once again, not the right mindset for it in my opinion.  
> For those who aren't familiar with what Dracula quotes, it's from Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats.  
> As a treat, I'll let you all know that they'll be reunited in the next chapter... and that's all I'll say about that.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back! Well. It never went anywhere. I was just exceptionally busy during October, which ruined all my plans for a Halloween chapter. I hope you all understand.

* * *

“I think I see the pub. The White Lion was the name Diana gave you, right?” I said as we rounded a corner. Mallory’s grimace was substituted by a relieved smile when her eyes landed on the next block. I snorted. “Do us both a favour and throw those shoes away.”

“Will not!” She retorted, straightening up and putting some force on her stride. The grimace appeared on her face when she took a second stride and then she leaned on me again, as she had been doing for most of our walk from Strand to Covent Garden. “You saw me with them in Gloucester, we were  **_meant_ ** to be. They just need to be softened, is all. We should’ve taken the bus or the tube,” she said, pointing at the Underground station across the street. 

“It was a ten minute walk. I wasn’t facing Covent Garden station–”

“So you chose walking  **_through_ ** Covent Garden?” Mallory waved around us. “There are people everywhere.”

People scurried about, going from store to store with heaps of bags in their hands. A group of tourists took photos in front of a Victorian pub. A man talking loudly on the phone passed us, gesticulating his hands in the air and got his fingers caught in a teenage girl’s hair, who shouted curses at him. They stopped going their own ways to argue. Covent Garden was always crowded. No matter the time of year, there were tourists snapping shots and Londoners busy at work hurrying from one side of the city to another. Christmas, which wasn’t far now that little lights hung in front of buildings, was especially chaotic. I tried to avoid the place altogether at all times of the year.

But today, I didn’t mind it. Diana was leaving for Glasgow and had invited Mal and I for lunch and because she worked near Covent Garden, we all agreed it would make matters more convenient for her if we chose a restaurant close to her. Meeting Diana was another touch of normality I needed. Things were returning to the way they used to be. Or at least, I could pretend.

“It’s a lovely day,” I said. “I didn’t want to waste it.”

“It’s an average day. Terrible weather, as usual. You’re the one who’s awfully chipper.” She elbowed me. “Did you have your talk with Dracula yesterday?”

“Tonight,” I slanted a look at her, waiting for her to start chastising me about him, but Mallory was busy throwing flirty looks at a short guy coming out of a store rather than paying attention to me. Ahead of us, Diana rose her head from whomever she had been texting and waved, her face lighting up when she saw me. She put her phone inside her purse and settled it on top of her suitcase. “There’s Diana waiting for us.” I tugged Mallory with me before she caught another man in her web. “You’ve got court this afternoon.”

“I can squeeze him in between lunch and court,” she said, turning her head to look at the guy. I turned too, and rolled my eyes at the stupid grin in his face.

“What about Sean?”

“Oh, he’s seeing Sarah to make me jealous now. Besides, Sean isn’t half as cute as that one.” She threw another grin over her shoulder.

“Go give him your number and I’ll go wait with Diana.”

Mallory unlaced her arm from mine, smiling brightly. 

“Be back in a sec.”

I watched Mallory leave, swaying her hips towards the guy as if she hadn’t been complaining about her feet hurting for the last ten minutes. The man licked his lips and smiled at her. If he wanted to appear wolfish he was failing miserably. Out of them both, Mallory would be the one to chew him up and spit out his bones after she was done. Only one person had managed to master a lascivious smile that actually managed to be charming, and he was a foot taller than that guy and infinitely dead-er. 

“She’s still playing that game, huh?” Diana said from behind me. I pivoted just in time for her to catch me in a hug. 

“She’s good at it. Unbeatable so far,” I said, and chuckled into the hug. “I missed you, Di.”

“Me too! Don’t disappear like that again.” She gave me a quick squeeze before letting me go. “You didn’t answer my texts and when you finally answered my call you barely spoke. I was worried! How was I supposed to nurse you back from heartbreak if you didn’t tell me anything?” 

I had a faint memory of talking to Diana on the phone during my stay at Mallory’s. She’d spoken at me while I had given her nothing but monosyllabic replies. I wasn’t sure if I’d told her what had happened and suddenly I felt guilty for leaving Diana in the dark. We shared a property and saw each other nearly every day for coffee, dinners, watching bad films on the telly, until I disappeared without so much a call to let her know I was okay. 

“I’m sorry, Di. I really should’ve–”

“No, no, don’t you apologise. Mallory told me what she could when I called you the other day. It seems not even she knows what exactly is going on but I’m glad that you and her recovered your friendship. The three of us can go back into our card games over wine, what do you say? I miss those nights.” She smiled at me as she cupped my cheeks in her hands like a mother would. I nodded, smiling back. One of those nights, we had gotten especially hammered and went dancing and singing in our yard until we passed out on the grass. We woke up covered in morning dew with headaches strong enough to make our eyes hurt. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” I said. Diana narrowed her eyes at me and I nodded, raising my eyebrows. “Seriously, I’m much better than before. I slept well last night for the first time since the wedding. Renfield is home,” I told her, and smiled big. 

Last night, I’d slept on my own bed in my own room and didn’t worry about Dracula slipping in through a window. Renfield being out of the hospital probably did contribute to my good night of sleep but I knew it had more to do with Dracula’s unforeseen kindness twice in the same day; first, Renfield being released and second, the truce he had granted me. Two days past my deadline and he was giving me gifts instead of tearing half of London town to shreds looking for me. Little apologies, if I could call it that. 

“Oh, that’s good! That’s really good. What about you and Count Dracula?”

“I’ll talk to him tonight but I’m not as worried as before.” 

Those small acts of kindness from him had given me more confidence than I could have hoped for our conversation. I would make him understand my reasons and apologise. Perhaps some of the kindness that had permeated his heart had remained there and he would listen.

“Here she is!” Diana exclaimed, opening her arms wide. Mallory strode over, a grin almost splitting her cheeks as they hugged. “Did you get his name, address and his family’s so you’ll know where to send your condolences after you’re done with him?” Mallory guffawed. “You know, you didn’t have to abandon both of us–”

“You really didn’t,” I added, though I was smiling. A lot of smiling for me in a day after a long time of not feeling the urge to. 

“I know! I was a twit!” Mallory held Diana in a half hug to grasp my arm. She fixed her eyes on mine. “I never said I was sorry! God! I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

Diana and I made a chorus of playful rebukes until Mallory laughed.

“Do you leave for Glasgow after lunch?” Mallory asked, pointing at the suitcase near our feet. 

“Yes, I’ll go straight from here to the airport. I’ll spend the next week there for a work conference but I just had to see you before I go,” Diana said, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You do seem well.”

“ **_Now_ ** she does. You’ve got no idea about the  **_sulking_ ** –” Mallory chuckled when I made a face at her. “I’ll leave you alone but I’ll get on your nerves in a couple of weeks about it.” Turning to Diana, she took one of her long silvery strands of hair and raised it to examine it. “And this hair! You should’ve gone all silverfox ages ago.”

“I supposed it was the time to start assuming my age– oh, heh,” Diana giggled like a teenage girl as Mallory went around her, bunching Di’s hair behind her back to have a proper look at it. My smile faltered.  _ No. _ “It’s fashionable now, did you hear it? Looking your age, being  **_au naturel_ ** . The hair I’ll accept–”

It must have been the lighting. Of course. Had to be. 

But as Diana craned her neck slightly to try and have a look at Mallory behind her, it remained there. A patch of toneless, rended skin, jagged and raised, shaped like a semicircle. Her body had done its best to heal it, although it had left her with a lifelong scar. It didn’t look like my scar or Mallory’s; ours seemed precise, a mere mark of the piercing of teeth that had taken place. 

“I’ve got to go,” I said. Mallory and Diana stopped their chattering. I glanced between Diana’s face and the scar on her neck. She pushed a swath of her hair over her shoulder to cover it from my gaze. When I met her eyes again, they were glazed, like Mallory’s were every time I changed her bandages. “I’ve got to go,” I repeated.

“Where?” Mallory questioned. 

Mallory and Diana called my name as I turned around and started leaving. I ignored them. There was nothing they could say to assuage me.

People were spilling out of the Covent Garden Underground station. I bumped shoulders with people until I reached a corner where I could see the road. I instinctively raised a hand to signal a black car, only to drop it when I realised it wasn’t a cab. Three more black cars rolled by, none of them taxis. My heart sputtered in relief when I finally saw the plaque atop a car, identifying it as a London taxi, but sank when I noticed the light was off. I jabbed daggers with my eyes at the car’s backseat, spilling unjustified hate towards a passenger, but there was no one there. The cabbie was just driving around lazily, probably on his way somewhere to grab lunch, as was everyone else. 

“Fuck this,” I muttered, circling back to follow the people heading towards Covent Garden station.

I knew better than to join the herd waiting for one of the lifts. The station was always notoriously busy because of tourists and the usual bustle of people that lived and worked at Covent Garden and not many people dared to descend the equivalent of a 15 storey building to reach the platforms. To the spiral staircase I went, ignoring the warnings that the 193 steps were meant for emergencies, and started trotting down as fast as my high heels would allow. A woman speaking loudly through a device fixed on her ear dashed past me when I reached the first landing. She carried a pair of shoes on one hand and a purse in another. Her bare feet made almost no sound as she bounded nimbly to the next landing. My shoes hindered me from doing the same, so I stopped, and took them off as I supported myself on the handrails and went down the stairs in black nylons. The sound of an incoming train made me hurry and I felt threads pulling on the soles of my feet. I’d have to remind myself to sew those holes later. Not that it mattered much. Nothing seemed to matter but the rage churning in my chest. 

I allowed myself to take one quick, sharp intake of breath to relieve my lungs as I reached the end of the stairs before making three turns and descending a few more steps towards the platform. The train made a sequence of warning sounds that the doors were about to close. I sprinted the short distance to enter the wagon, almost barreling into an elderly couple in my haste. 

Flopping down on a seat, I fit my shoes back on my feet, noting that the holes near my toes had evolved into rips that extended all the way up to my calves. The left leg of my tights had a rip to the thigh, too. I didn’t remember snagging it anywhere. My purse rested on my lap as I pushed the hair sticking to the sweat in the back of my neck. My fingers brushed the serrated skin on the side of my neck and I flinched for a second but forced myself to feel the soft line, as if to be sure that it really diferred from the one on Diana’s skin. I dropped my hand not a second later. It was foolish of me to search for a resemblance between a simple line and a splodge of ugly, discoloured ridges. The bite on Diana’s neck resembled Zoe’s. If I was to trust Zoe’s word on at least that, he had tried to kill her. I had to assume he had tried to kill Diana, too. Was this another one of Dracula’s attempts to torment me? Did he have a mind to taste all of those who were dearest to me? 

Five stops and less than ten minutes later, I exited at Knightsbridge Station. I’d hoped the short trip would have helped me to put my thoughts in order but no such luck. It was all just a flurry of baffling questions and a rage that made my whole body tremble with its force.

Once I was above ground, drizzle fell like a balm over my skin to cool down the warm sweat on my forehead. Tiny particles of water stuck to my eyelashes making it harder to see through the fog that had settled about the outskirts of Hyde Park. Cars passing me had their headlights on when it was only noon and people walked slowly, eyes squinting and breaths fogging as they talked. My nose pricked up from the cold and my joints hurt as if they could break as easily as ice. I shouldn’t be surprised at London’s astounding change in weather within 10 minutes yet nothing had hinted at this dreadful weather earlier that morning. It certainly defied rules and for a moment I was only walking through a dream. When I woke up, I’d still be at the wedding, dancing with Dracula. A yes would still leave my lips but instead of dragging Mallory to the restroom, I’d take his hand and we would leave. My purse containing that dreadful needle with Zoe Van Helsing’s blood would lay in the bottom of the castle’s pond, never to be found. And then we would return to London where he would bite me and make me like him. A silly dream, a stupid girl’s dream with a happy ever after. 

I stopped before the building I’d entered almost three months ago. Renfield’s gift to me. I had thought nothing of it. Just a small errand for one of Renfield’s fancy clients in Knightsbridge. A small thing that had tipped my life over the edge. I pushed the door to enter the building and made my way to the lifts at the far left corner. A doorman hollered for me to check-in at the desk first. As I pushed the button to call the lift, I shouted my name over my shoulder and told him that I’d registered once before. He asked me where I was headed. I didn’t spare him an answer and went into the lift when it opened.

I held my breath the entire trip up to the penthouse. As I stepped out into the long hallway, my heels clicked on the lavish black marble flooring. It felt odd on my ears. The hallway was only present in my memory along with a tune. I’d been listening to music when I came here for the first time, but I couldn’t remember which one. The soft clicks on stone shouldn’t make me hesitate, yet I found myself slowing my pace as I approached the single door on the wall at my right. I’d known what to expect when I first came here; have some documents signed, dribble a Count’s advances and leave. I was worlds apart from that day. 

The door opened.

Dracula stood beyond it, barely visible inside the flat’s darkness. He squinted at me as if the glare from the soft lights from the hallway were too much for his eyes. 

“Come in.”

“I didn’t ring the doorbell.”

“James called from the lobby to tell me that he couldn’t hold you off. Even if he hadn’t, I would have smelled you.” He stepped further into the flat, half his body hidden behind the door. “Do come in. I can’t bear the lights.”

As I passed him, I cast a quick glance in his direction. His forehead rested on the door and he made no other sign to acknowledge me. I followed the gentle beam of light from the hallway, illuminating the long black table in the center of the flat. At the back of the room, I could see the dull light of day obscured almost completely by thick curtains that extended all the way from the high ceiling to the floor. Just as I placed my purse on the table, the door was shut and I was completely submerged in the dark. I pivoted to face Count Dracula but there was nothing before me. My heartbeat suddenly spiked at my blindness and the disorientation that accompanied it. 

“Why is it so dark in here?” I asked, pinning my arms to my sides so I wouldn’t extend them before me in an attempt to situate myself. I could feel sensation returning to the tips of my fingers and I was very aware of the tip of my nose all of a sudden, weighty and warm. 

“It’s daytime, I was asleep,” his voice sounded much closer than I expected and instinct drove me back until my backside hit the table. A breeze tickled my face as something moved in front of me. I remained still. “Did you know your stockings are ripped?”

“I’m aware. Dracula–” I stopped talking when the darkness dissipated, muted violet lights coming to life around us. Blue lighting followed, concealed behind skirting boards and creating patterns on the walls. It was still dim to make out details from the flat but at least I could see in front of me. The spot where Dracula had been was empty and now he stood to my left, one hand lowering from where he had touched a light switch. His hair was tousled and his clothes – a grey shirt and black sweatpants – were crimped. He was barefoot. The alertness on his face made me doubt that he had been truly asleep before I arrived. Tossing and turning in his bed was a far more likely possibility by the look of him.

“When I texted you yesterday, I assumed no clarification was necessary. I hoped we would talk at a more opportune moment but–”

“Diana,” I said.

He closed his mouth and blinked. If I hadn’t spent so much time around him, studying every movement of his face, every twitch of an eyebrow and every way his mouth contorted in a smile, I wouldn’t have noticed the surprise that had crossed his face. The trepidation.

“What of her?”

“Don’t even  **_try_ ** pretending,” I vociferated, stepping forward. “Her throat was mangled. You tried to kill her–”

“Y/N–”

“When?”

“Things were different–”

“I don’t fucking care.  **_When?_ ** ”

Dracula shut his eyes and shook his head lightly to the sides.

“After that night at the museum.”

“Oh… Really? After–” the words got stuck in my throat. After he had given me an incomparable gift, he chased and laughed with me. I’d gone home and slept, peacefully yet confused about all that had happened. He seemed to have enjoyed himself, and yet... “Why?”

“It was a mistake.”

“Renfield I can understand, he’s nothing without you. Nothing but a servant, I see that now, and it was before we’d met. Mallory… god, I wish you hadn’t done that but I get it.” My voice was strangled but no tears escaped. I suspected there weren’t any left. Or that maybe they had become frozen in the cold inside of me. “I do. I can’t fight you and she was proof. But Diana, why? I gave you a deal, I was attacked by my mentor because of this–” I jabbed a finger at my throat where he had bitten me “–and I still went on a date with you. Wasn’t I being compliant? A toy for you to play with, to dance to your own tune when you wanted to, destined to be yours until I succumbed? Isn’t that all I am?”

“ **_No,_ ** ” he said, stepping forward. I retreated until my behind hit the table again. He didn’t follow. “At first… that’s what you were to me. You are obstinate, I knew it from the start, but I have managed to make even the most tenacious people bow. I was sure I’d have you at the museum. I was delighted that you seemed so responsive to my advances there, and equally displeased that you were capitulating so easily. But you refused me and ran. It seemed to me that we were both at work at making the other bend a knee.” The corners of his mouth tugged up, a slight gleam in his eyes. I kept my stare at his nose so I wouldn’t have to acknowledge how much I had missed that look on him. “You must understand that not much confuses me anymore, or frightens me. You do.”

“ **_I_ ** frighten  **_you_ ** ?” I asked, shocked.

“Perhaps not in the same way I frighten you, but yes. I thought it impossible. Though I strive to be a modern man, I found myself wondering if you had not bewitched me. Medieval of me, isn’t it?” He chuckled. The sound was sour and it blossomed inside of me until I felt heavy. “Renfield told me you had a way of getting into people’s heads, that you had a way with words, but it wasn’t enough for me. A spell, for sure.”

“That  **_is_ ** medieval,” I retorted. “I'm a lawyer, not a witch.”

“Precisely. If I wanted it to be easy I would’ve chosen someone else. But Delilah, ah, that you were,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “You were always Delilah and you knew it. Seducing me with those eyes and your woven words, a meticulous trap to mellow me and cut my hair.”

“It wasn’t like that!” I exclaimed, furrowing my brow. He raised his in response. “For a while, okay, I was Delilah, but not at the museum. I’d done nothing up to that point! Nothing at all to sic you on Diana.”

“You asked Renfield about me. About vampire legends,” Dracula said, tilting his head. “He was persuaded that you meant to kill me.”

My jaw slacked and I buried my face in my hands. 

I shouldn’t have opened my mouth to Renfield. I knew he would relay it to Dracula and asked anyway. Every single thing that had happened could have been avoided if my arrogance hadn’t blinded me to the possibilities; the deal, that visit to Renfield, my plan with Zoe. Diana, Mallory, those students in Surrey. Me and my godlike hubris. What else could I have done? Rolled over and showed Count Dracula my throat?  _ Here, have it, it’s yours.  _ In the end, that’s what I would’ve done – and had done – but not without irreparable damage. 

“So you bit Diana, because what, retaliation?” My voice was muffled by my own hands. “To hurt me? One of your lessons?”

“Impulse,” he replied. “After the museum, I visited Renfield and, convinced that you had bewitched me, went to your house that same night.”

I peeked at him from between my fingers, my hiding spot. Strands of my hair fell like curtains, concealing him from me. Sweeping my hair back, I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders. I had my parcel of blame and he had his. To make peace with my wrongdoings I would have to listen to him first. 

“I wouldn’t let myself be hexed by you,” he continued. “That night, I was going to break our deal and make you mine. Bend you at my will. I stood in your garden facing your window,” –he tipped his head back as if he was there again, eyes transfixed in memory– “watching and waiting for you to close the curtains, to come about me, a prince in waiting for his bride,” he scoffed, shaking his head to the sides and started to pace in front of me. 

“But Diana came upon you,” I presumed. 

“She did. I said hello to her. She asked me how I knew her na–” I waved a hand for him to spare me this part. “No details? Fine, it would be distasteful.” I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he making puns? He didn’t seem to notice his choice of words, for he carried on. “She startled me. I was angry at your dominion over me and I thought to lash out back at you, thus I bit her. Bit her beneath your window so you could see me for what I was, so you would understand that you couldn’t control me and that I could kill without a care for you. However, you were fast asleep. There was no point in killing Diana if you could not see. I let her go.”

I stared at him, gritting my teeth until my temples hurt, and waited for him to say more. He stared back, chin raised and that dark gaze unmoving. 

Beneath my window, where I’d found Diana the next day, pale and empty-eyed, watering a spot of grass. The very same spot, I imagined, where she had bled. Blood amongst the earth as if it had seeped out of it. A source of a river, running thick with blood.

“Was that it?” I managed to ask, trembling. Any moment now I would choke on my anger. At him or me? “Do you realise how horrible that sounds?”

Dracula closed some of the distance between us. I tried stepping back but all I managed to do was press my butt against the table. And why try escaping now? I’d come here. Had I not accepted what would inevitably happen? I tipped my head back to look at him, noting the crinkles around his eyes and next to his mouth, the shape of his lips. Seeing him up close after what happened was both a relief and a pain. 

“I do. I have never softened my words for you and I won’t start lying now. Diana was a mistake, I will admit to that.” He cleared his throat. “Mallory was extreme, perhaps, but I don’t know if I would’ve done that differently. I’m not merciful and if that’s what you expect of me… well,” he smiled. “I can’t give you that. I’ve shown you what I am. But despite my efforts, you have changed me.”

“How?”

Keeping his hands well in my sight, as if to give me an opportunity to retreat, he raised them and cupped each of my cheeks. They didn’t feel cold on my skin. Maybe I’d grown accustomed to that. 

“I have lived for almost six hundred years and I have not been kind, except for you.” He drew a hand back and I looked at it, frowning in bewilderment as he rubbed his thumb on the side of his finger, a dampness between them. My tears hadn’t frozen. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. From now on, I won’t move a finger to hurt anyone you care about and if I ever hurt you again it won’t be intentionally.”

“I know I’ll forgive you, eventually,” I said, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. I bumped my fist on his chest and one of his hands held it there, wrapping around my wrist like a manacle. “I keep telling myself it’s the bond, and it must be. It can’t be real. But do you know the worst part?” I stared up at him and he simply shook his head. “After all you've done, after how much you've hurt me, I’m still in love with you and I can't stop.” The admission, filled with guilt and shame, evoked a horrible sob out of my chest and I sank to the floor, as if I was pleading for absolution after denying it for so long. Dracula had let me go and I stared at my wrists, bare without his touch. He wasn’t merciful. Neither was the love I felt for him, like a knife to the heart, a noose that tightens around a neck until it breaks. “I can't stop, Dracula. I still want you as much as I did from the moment we kissed. Does that make me a horrible person? Does it? Please, tell me it does.”

I stared up at him, my knees bent under me, ready for the taking, as if there had ever been another possibility. He was looking straight forward. Pretty, hollow words, that’s all he’d said to me. I could falter, bend and break. He wouldn’t. Then, as I watched his regal posture, he knelt before me and took my hands in his. 

“There is no bond,” he said. My mouth parted, trying to form words, letters, a sound, anything. My whole body relaxed, astonishment carrying all the stiffness it had built. I started shaking my head and Dracula grabbed my jaw lightly to stop me. “There was, once. You broke it. I felt it fading overtime but I thought it was only your blood being drowned by others.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, straightening so I stood half-up, supported by my calves. My breath ricocheted on his face from this new proximity and I had to lean back to gaze at him.

“I am.”

“Since when?”

“Well, since 10 seconds ago,” he said, and I shook my head. “When did it break? I suppose it started fading when you first visited Renfield in the hospital. You asked questions our tie was meant to prevent you to ask. You told me yourself at your house that you couldn’t move all afternoon as you waited for me. A silent obeisance. I’m willing to believe it broke completely when Doctor Helsing and yourself–”

I grabbed the collar of his shirt, winding it around my fingers in an attempt to ground myself. Dracula took my waist in his hands and I tensed at the familiar touch, a coil tightening around my belly button and pulling downwards between my thighs. A shiver down my spine emerged not a second later. It was an odd combination of fear and desire but at this point I was having trouble dividing the two, if they had ever been divided before I met him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” he muttered, raising an eyebrow and then smiling. “You’re the liar here.”

A foreign sound echoed inside the room. A laugh. One that I could only recognise as my own because I touched my chest to feel it shaking. 

_ This is it _ .  _ I’m really going into hysterics now _ .

It couldn’t be. If it were true, it was never the bond. All of it was me.

* * *


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahem  
> -

* * *

_A foreign sound echoed inside the room. A laugh. One that I could only recognise as my own because I touched my chest to feel it shaking._

_This is it . I’m really going into hysterics now ._

_It couldn’t be. If it were true, it was never the bond. All of it was me._

* * *

“No,” I said, still giggling. “You are a liar. As big of a liar as I am. Renfield and Zoe already knew about you, that’s why the bond didn’t stop me. But I couldn’t reveal what you are to anybody else.”

“Did you try?”

“Of cour–” I began, but that was a lie. I had just assumed that I wouldn’t be unable to talk about it, like I had a gag in my mouth that even when removed still felt normal pressing against my tongue. I laughed again. “I didn’t. God, I didn’t **_try_ **.”

“You fell for me all on your own,” he affirmed. 

I nodded, my nose bumping into his, laughing as hot tears rolled down my cheeks like I had lost my mind. 

“Kiss me,” I asked softly when I stopped laughing. I locked my eyes on his. “Will you kiss me? Or do you hate me?”

Dracula grabbed the back of my head and ensnared my hair in his knuckles. His mouth was hard, forcing his tongue past my teeth to eat up my breath. I tried to do the same, to consume something of him as he did with me, but I was the only one left breathless. I held his bottom lip between my teeth, sucked and licked it, and bit down until a sharp, sweet taste blossomed. He pulled back and chuckled. Blood seeped from where I had bitten him. 

“I need to know,” he said, his tongue swiping at the spot to clean it.

“Do you, really?” I pleaded in a small breath and placed a light kiss on his mouth. “It’s past us.”

I crashed my lips to his again, tongue probing to sway a reaction. If I kept kissing him, wallowing in the sweetness of it, then the rest would disappear. 

“No, it isn’t,” he said into the kiss. “You know every…” more of his blood poured in my mouth when pressed my tongue to his bottom lip and he groaned “..way I have wronged you... I must... know.”

Again, he pulled back. I went to grab him and he caught both my wrists in one hand. The hand on my hair pulled and twisted, forcing my head to the side. Instinct should have told me to push him away yet I didn’t. My chest heaved. 

“Do it, bite me, get it over with then,” I said. “Take the words I can’t say.”

We stared. His black eyes glowed until they became infused with red; his teeth doubled in size, sharpening to needled and serrated points, and then he bent down to bury his face on my neck. Pressure instead of pain bore down on my throat, both suffocating and relieving. My whole body felt cold, yet pulsating heat throbbed beneath my skin, my blood bursting between his teeth like seeds of a pomegranate. The blue and violet lights of the penthouse diminished and the room darkened. I felt like I was being pulled out of my body. 

Feeling returned to my toes and tips of my fingers; I found I was holding onto Dracula’s hair while another hand dug on his back, driving him closer. I felt Dracula’s arms holding my torso up and the floor pressing harshly on my back. At some point, my knees had been rendered useless and Dracula had laid me down. The pressure stopped. He raised his head and suddenly I was whole again. I blinked to clear bleary eyes and focus past the haze. Predatory eyes gazed at me, unknowing. I opened my mouth to speak and as I did, droplets of blood glimmered on the corners of his lips. They resembled rubies for a second, twinkling under the lights, but then more of them appeared to coat his bottom lip, drip on his chin and on my face. I flinched slightly at the hot touch of blood on my cheek. It felt like the first drop of rain out of the sky, but it was mine and it had none of the soothing quality of cool water.

“ **_Ah_ **, you surprise me so,” he murmured, holding me in his arms. “I had hoped that Doctor Helsing was the one to pull you into her web but the other way around is more accurate, isn’t it? My darling Delilah… you almost caught me.”

“Almost,” I said but my voice was no more than a whisper. “But I don’t want to catch you anymore. I want you for me, you know that.”

“I do. But you’ve learned how to lie, perhaps your blood has, too.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you still want me now?”

My gaze fell on his bloodied mouth. 

My blood, his lips. I could still taste his on my tongue. 

I shut my eyes, lifted my head closer and kissed him. The viscous, slippery feeling was easy to ignore but the sharp tang of my own blood wasn’t. Even so, I pushed my tongue inside to relish what he had taken. To share. I felt the edge of a razor-sharp tooth with the tip of my tongue when he kissed me back. Blood ran down my chin, wetting my clothes, sticking hair behind my ears. Good sense should have kicked in. Surely I still had it, but it remained silent, and we devoured each other without restraint. I tried moving my legs to wrap around him but they were weak from blood loss. Dracula, perhaps sensing my movement or reading my intentions in what he drank, pushed to fit between my thighs. 

Mindless need filled me and I laced limp arms and legs around him as blood trickled down to my chest, its heat spreading to wash the cold I felt inside. Dracula settled on top of me, his weight crushing my body down and making it hard to breathe. The metallic scent and taste of blood was hardly noticeable now, the taste having grown alluring to my senses as our tongues laved one another. 

He drew back to sit on his ankles and, before I could so much utter a whimper in protest, he pushed my skirt up. The red of his gaze considered my black tights as fingers followed the seam starting near my navel, tracing down to caress my skin through the thin mesh. The trail stopped where my underwear dipped in the vale of my thighs. His thumb moved down until it pressed to feel the slickness that had built there. My hips struggled to accompany the movement and in my anticipation I rose them off the ground, pushing towards his touch to increase the pressure. Dracula responded by pinning me down with that same hand and rolling his thumb on my clit. A gentle touch to tease me and elicit whimpers from my mouth as I squirmed uselessly under his grip. 

Buttons popped and bounced on the floor when Dracula pawed at my blouse. The ruffles of my blouse fell away and, exposed to the cool temperature, my nipples hardened under the scarlet coat of my own blood. He shoved the bra aside and pinched a nipple. Pain shot through my nerves as my toes curled and my shoes slipped out of my feet. I grabbed his forearms with both hands as he pinched harshly again and this time held on until I squealed. His fingers working at my center drew circles, kneading in this exquisite torture. Agony bordered pleasure. I wasn’t sure if I was even able to differentiate the two anymore or if they had not always been one and the same. Embarrassed by this new finding, I bit my lip to stop my cry from becoming a moan and perhaps from asking him to do it again but the slyness in his gaze told me he knew that I had enjoyed it. 

He let go of my breast completely and I gasped at the sudden rasp sound of clothing tearing. No amount of sewing would save my nylons now. A rush of cool air over the wetness there made a brief shiver course through my body, although the sheer brutality of having my clothes torn off and my flesh pinched probably had more to do with it. 

Dracula moved in a blur too fast for my eyes to detect. He laced his arms under my knees and got on top of me again, pushing my legs up so that I was practically folded underneath him. I felt the tip of him brushing at my entrance and understanding dawned that the fast blur was him removing his trousers.

“Wait–” He seized my lips in his before I could begin speaking and penetrated me at once. A harsh moan escaped me, muffled by his kiss, as I stretched forcibly around his length. He had left me aching as my body still resisted his size, as I knew it would, but I welcomed the slight pain. I wanted it. There was no mercy in the man I had grown to love and, despite all that we had both done, I wanted him, pitiless. I wrapped my legs around his waist, the heels of my feet pressing on his back, my fingernails scraping his shoulders, trying to tear his shirt as I held him with all my strength to keep him still, my lips raw from kissing and scraping them on his sharp teeth. 

“Your shirt,” I begged, unable to say more than two simple words at the slew of sensations.

“Tear it,” he said. He captured my mouth in another dizzying kiss as he pressed against me, adding friction to our intertwined bodies and sending shivers through me so that my nipples puckered. 

I pulled against the fabric, using his own back as leverage to my effort, but it didn’t budge. 

“Can’t,” I gasped when he gave me a chance to breathe. 

My legs were released for a quick, nearly imperceptive moment as his shirt came off. I went to touch and to caress his chest but his own hands were swift and my arms were pushed and held above my head, denying me the pleasure of touching him. I was imprisoned by his touch and the red in his gaze, luring me to give everything I had until I had nothing left. Dracula pulled his hips back slowly and snapped them forward, filling me to the brim and stealing my breath. Whimpering, I arched into him as a silent plea for more, each of his rough strokes making me wet enough that the initial pain turned into pleasure. He freed me from the hold of his gaze and bent his head to suck my sore nipple. A hot tongue lapped the tenderness away and granted me some relief before he opened his mouth wide and bit down on my breast to slice through skin and veins. It stung for as long as the teeth pierced my flesh but when he drew back all that remained was a throbbing heat setting me alight. The pace of his hips grew urgent as he licked the blood from my chest. Soft cries left my mouth as I felt ecstasy nearing closer and twisting in my loins.

Dracula left me altogether, and the emptiness made me whine. I wanted the tormenting rush of his teeth in me, of his size pushing inside and the fear mingled with complete indulgence of acting like a savage creature, covered in blood and still wanting more.

I was suddenly flipped so that I stood on my hands and knees and he entered me again. A string of words came from him but it was either in another language or my brain had been made void by how much thicker he felt inside me as he started pumping deeper and faster than before. My elbows trembled, unable to support me up, and I bent in a sort of worship position with my arms curled under me as if I could find some solace in them. My cheekbone pressed to the cool floor, sending small jabs through my nerve endings. He held my hips up lest my knees gave in like my elbows and continued his unrelenting thrusts. 

He groaned as his hands dug into my buttocks so that I felt that I might tear apart at his brutish touches. I pushed back using the remains of my strength to seek some relief to the building despair, rolling my hips in tandem with his movement, an outpour of near sobs escaping my throat. 

“Up,” he commanded.

I simply shook my head, panting as I tried to reach what I longed for with him inside me. 

Dracula moved over me, evoking a harsh gasp of me as I took more of him than I thought possible. It was delightful to feel that much and also agonising for he had broken up his pace and stolen my release. I was yanked back not a second later as my knees struggled to keep me up. Arms caged me to pin my back to his chest. A hand clamped over my breast, the piercing burn on my nipple surging anew and making me grow wetter for him to resume thrusting. 

“You’re mine,” he said, his mouth on my ear. Mouth hanging open as if the ability to speak had been taken from me, I nodded. “Say it.” I tried but I couldn’t seem to summon air into my lungs with my body overcome by dizzying ache and throbbing. He pinched a nipple so that it pricked in pain and immense pleasure as the other one did. “Say it and I’ll let you come.” He abandoned my chest and his hand went searching low to where I most craved it. 

“I’m yours!”

His lips sealed over the bite on my neck and pulled in the same moment his fingers massaged my clit. My eyes rolled back and a wail left me along with the last threads of breath. Shivers followed to render my body writhing to overflow with sensation. I was afraid I felt myself growing addicted to the heady feeling of being cast out of my body and plunged in the abyss of it again, over and over and over. Dracula held me up, humming as he drank me. Thrusting, untiring, taking. I shut my eyes. I tensed and shook and whimpered, then went completely limp on his arms. 

He didn’t stop moving. Suddenly he was too thick to fit and having him inside was more affliction than relief. I clamped my legs together and tried to push forward for him to let go. He unlatched from my throat and blood flowed lazily down my chest and back. I was whole again but he still kept me trapped in his arms. 

“ **_Please_ **,” I begged through ragged breaths as he kept pounding. But I didn’t know what I was begging for.

Dracula grunted and hissed on my ear. My face grew hot and tingly. Tears formed on the corners of my eyes as the feeling of bursting returned. It demanded for more. He continued his kneading at my center while his free hand found its way inside my mouth. Fingers pressed on my tongue and I tasted the sweetened iron of his blood. I grabbed his forearm for support and sucked on what was offered to me as though I could find some comfort on the taste or the simple feeling of being thoroughly filled until I was flooding. He used these fingers like a muzzle to guide my head so it rested on his shoulder and I was forced to gaze into his eyes, black and inebriated with hunger. 

“Once again, darling,” he urged. “Together.”

Unable to fight it, I complied. I clenched around him repeatedly, my body seeking to push him out or pull him in. Blood and saliva dripped from my mouth. The only sounds came from him. Harsh moans, almost growls, in his frantic need until they turned soft and hoarse as he stilled his movements and simply gripped me, tight to him, holding me through his own climax.

He slumped to the ground with me in his arms. I felt him at my back, lying side by side, wrapped into him. My breath was a chill in my throat as he withdrew his fingers from my mouth and my face was allowed to rest on the hardwood floor, which felt soggy and somewhat swollen under my cheek. He remained inside. The tang of blood saturated the air. I was faintly aware of the rags of my clothing clinging to my body and sopping with sweat and blood. 

Consumed by exhaustion and by him, I was lured in a promise of rest, to doze off. I was nearing sleep, or perhaps nearly fainting, when Dracula turned me, leaving my depths, and held me flush to his chest. I laced an arm over him and tangled a leg with his to retribute this half embrace. I laid my head on his shoulder and gazed at him. The lower half of his face was coated in red – as mine was, I supposed – and his eyes appeared excessively bright with what he had taken. I wondered if my eyes appeared glazed over to him; I certainly felt that way, but also elated and depleted of worry or fear. 

I wished to tell him that, but my tongue felt fat and unable to produce such words. Instead I said, “I think we ruined your floor beyond repair.” It was no more than a whisper but he seemed to hear me for he chuckled.

“I believe so, yes. I’ll have it cleaned later until I can get a new one.”

I hummed in simple agreement and snuggled closer. Looking past him I saw the legs of chairs and above us a solid black slate obstructing my view to the ceiling. I looked to where our legs lied, covered in azure and violet lighting. The rest of our bodies were clouded in dark. 

“Are we… under the table?”

“Yes.”

I made another sound of agreement. Dracula must have rolled us under it when we collapsed to the ground. He leaned his head closer and kissed my forehead. Then, each of my eyes, my cheeks, the tip of my nose, my chin. My smile grew with each kiss. His mouth hovered over mine and I pushed closer to join our lips. It was sweet and metallic and there was no consuming of anything between us. My lips were chafed from his fangs earlier and I expected some sting from the smalls wounds, but the pain never came. 

“Will we forgive each other?” I asked when I pulled back and gazed intently into his eyes. 

His fingers delved in my hair while his palm rested on my cheek. His hand on my back stroked back and forth. 

“Forgiven and forgotten,” he told me.

“Do you mean it?” 

“As long as you don’t conspire against me again, yes.”

“I won’t.” I started shutting my eyes but then I saw his hand leaving my hair and the slices on his fingers. “You’re cut.”

He flexed his fingers before his face. There were hollow gashes on the soft padding of four fingers. His skin was coloured scarlet red yet no blood trickled from the wounds. 

“Yes.” His thumb traced the clean cuts and I pictured one of his claw-like nails cutting it open. “You wanted to share. You gave yourself. I thought it fitting to give back.”

I hadn’t voiced that desire to him but I didn’t need to. It was in my blood. As I watched, he closed his hand tight in a fist and rubbed his fingers together. When he opened his hand again the wounds were gone, as if they had never been there in the first place.

“What happens now?” I questioned, still staring at his hand. 

“I suppose you’ll want a bath. The tub is big enough for the both of us, although I would prefer to simply use my tongue to clean you,” he glanced at me, lowering his hand to caress the arm I had over his chest. I fought a smile and shook my head. “Now you blush? Aren’t you demure?” A single finger glided down my spine; a feathery touch that tickled and made me arch. His touch slid to where my back dipped. Lower until he found my ass, and squeezed. His nails would leave marks on my behind for days, I was sure of it. I was also sure that for the next few days, every time I left the shower I would turn around to admire the marks, until they disappeared.

“Not demure, no. I bet I look nothing less than savage right now–”

“And you’ve never looked lovelier,” he interrupted, squeezing me again until I winced and breathed out.

“Of course you think that. Blood will always be lovely to you.”

“It’s my favourite garment.”

He turned so that we were facing each other and, as if to make his point, licked my jaw. The lick became a soft kiss on the same spot and then rough, tugging and sucking my skin into his mouth, and coercing a moan from me. 

“I meant…” I tried to concentrate. Dracula laid me on my back and kissed the valley between my breasts. The colour of my skin peeked out of the cascade of glossy blood. He licked the red and I saw more of myself rather than red.

“Hm?” It was more purr than a question.

I forgot what I was going to ask.

I looked down in time to see him take my nipple in his mouth and I hissed. Bitten and pinched as my flesh had been, it burned and throbbed at this attention. I squirmed and dug my nails on his shoulders for him to let go. He stopped. But now he gathered my breast in one hand and simply licked the sensitive bud as a wild animal might have done to a meal. As promised, he started licking me clean. I saw the teeth marks around my nipple and with each careful lick, the punctures diminished in size. Smaller and smaller until they were gone. 

“How–” I blinked. I hadn’t imagined it. It was gone. It didn’t feel tender anymore. “Have you made me like you?”

“No, darling,” he said and grinned. “Not yet. I’ve closed it. I have no intention of tearing you to pieces. I can’t quite set my teeth in pieces, now, can I?”

“You can close wounds?”

“Only the ones I’ve made, if I so will it.”

If he willed it. He had the power to go unseen, unnoticed and unthought of, yet he didn’t use it. He could cover his tracks. If he had licked my wounds clean that night at my door after Camden, would I still be here? Lying on his floor wearing my blood as clothing and the taste of his own in my mouth? 

No, I wouldn’t. 

“And the one on my neck?” I turned my head, fingers fluttering over the new wound. It was warm to the touch of my fingertips but it felt numb. Dracula raised his head from my chest and lied next to me.

“I’d like to keep that one.” His reddened tongue traced his bottom lip.

“Why?”

“It marks you as mine.”

“You don’t bear my mark,” I said. 

“No.” He furrowed his eyebrows lightly.

I grabbed his face with both my hands. My vision blurred. Even so, I gazed into the black pits of his eyes.

“I won’t be yours unless you’re mine, too.”

“Nothing can mark me,” he said. My heart was plunged into my stomach. “I cannot bear your mark but I’ll be yours forever, as you are mine.”

I kissed him. Chastely. A word that should have left my vocabulary after it all.

“I’ll accept that bath now,” I said into his lips.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dragged you all through 16 chapters, I hope THIS was good enough.  
> One could argue it was a bit... much, but I think it suits the breakdown in the previous chapter, and yeah, I'm indulging myself. I've always wanted to write a scene like this.  
> Not apologising. *shrugs*


	18. Chapter 18

* * *

Dracula carried me to the bathroom. I stifled a giggle as soon as we crossed the threshold. It was either the biggest bathroom I had ever seen or I was shrinking. The walls were black marble with white and grey veins. Heavy curtains like the ones in the dining room covered a wall. Light peeked from under it. I supposed there was a big window there so that one could admire London’s skyline from inside the oval bathtub placed near it. Across from the sink countertop and a large mirror, stood the shower separated from the rest of the room by blurred glass.

He lowered me near the bathtub, murmuring for me to open the faucets. Keeping one arm around his neck, I reached and opened them. As the bathtub filled, Dracula held me under his shower to let the water wash off the blood. He stripped me of the rest of my clothes. When I swayed on my feet, he enveloped me in a hug to keep me steady. Drowsy, I buried my head on his chest and closed my eyes. 

Hot water embraced my whole body and I opened my eyes with a start as I was carefully lowered into the bathtub with him. His fingers kneaded my scalp and tugged softly on my hair as he washed it. The contours of my body were touched with the sole intent of cleaning it. After so much of moving me around, of raising my limbs and tender touches, I fell still, lying on him with my cheek on the crook of his neck. 

Submerged in water and in deep silence, I was suspended in a veil of sleep and wakefulness, threading between the two. For a moment I wondered if I was not dreaming. If perhaps I fell asleep at some point on the tube from Covent Garden to Knightsbridge and dreaming of peace in the arms of Count Dracula was the illusory result. As a test, I squeezed him lightly. He squeezed back. 

Not a dream. 

This was real. Everything that had just happened was real. There was no bond. My will was my own. I had a bite on my neck. Mallory had one and so did Diana. I was his. He said he was mine. 

Was this peace?

I shivered. 

“Are you cold?” I heard his voice deep inside his chest, the rumble it made inside his ribcage. It was quiet in there, except when he spoke. 

“No.”

“You’re shivering.”

“Maybe the water is getting cold,” I mumbled, pressing my eyes closed. This was peace. **_Peace_ **, I insisted.

“The water is still hot,” he said. He pushed the hair that clung to my neck and I flinched at the slight soreness there but relaxed as he stroked the skin gently. “I may have taken too much.” 

He moved beneath me. I opened my eyes with a sigh as he sat up and leaned his back against the tub. His legs parted my own and he pulled me up to straddle him. I felt his length grazing my inner thigh. I was briefly distracted as I remembered his size stretching me but Dracula made a brusque movement with his hand that pulled my mind away from that. A dark carmine line appeared above his collarbone. 

“Drink,” he beckoned.

I spared the blood a glance before fixing my eyes on his face.

“You’ve already given it to me.”

“You need more.” He held my cheek, drawing me closer. “You’re weak. It’ll help.”

I shook my head. Blood started sliding down the hairs on his chest. It glimmered. My mouth watered.

“I’ll be fine,” I insisted, forcing myself to look up. 

“Y/N,” he hissed my name, and like some sort of spell it wrapped around me and tightened, “you’re pale and shivering.” Dracula knitted his eyebrows as he evaluated me. The hand he had on my cheek coiled behind my head. “Drink it.”

My stomach fluttered. I gazed at the carmine sliver. Watched as it reached the bathwater and blossomed like red tendrils until it faded into pink hue. 

“Later, perhaps,” I said. I covered the cut on his neck with my hand. He frowned. “I haven’t eaten anything in hours. Food will make me feel better.” He continued staring at me, as if he was waiting for me to give in under the weight of his gaze. I dipped my hand underwater and pulled the drain stopper. The water gurgled as it started draining. “Help me out of the tub? I don’t think I can stand up on my own just yet.”

He nodded, the crease between his brows deepening. He pulled my arms around him and tied my legs around his waist before standing up. Water sloshed in the bathtub and dripped from our bodies in a sudden cascade of sound. I shivered again and held him tighter, seeking some warmth from the stark change of temperature. I flinched instinctively when he went to sit me down on the sink countertop, expecting the marble to feel cold but it was the furthest thing from it, and I relaxed. 

“There's a heating system in the entire bathroom,” he explained as he reached beneath the countertop and retrieved a pile of white towels. “The floors are heated, too.”

Sitting atop the block of solid marble, I matched his height and had no need to bend my head to look into his eyes, which was a relief with my sore neck. The cut he had opened above his collarbone was gone. 

I took two towels from him; one for my hair and another to dry myself off. He smiled faintly as he tied a towel around his waist. Carefully so as to not pull at the wound on my neck, I wrapped a towel around my body as if it was a cape. I eyed the second towel next to the copper sink. Dracula took it and started drying off my hair. “Thank you,” I said in a relieved smile that he seemed to understand without my needing to ask for help. 

Taking strands of my hair with the towel, he pressed them to soak up the water. At times he rubbed the towel on my scalp. His own hair looked black instead of dark brown as droplets of water dripped down to his nose. One drop landed on his lip. It hung from his cupid bow, undisturbed. The drop grew fat as tiny particles of water coalesced around it. Even so, it sat still on the curve of his mouth. I glanced up at his eyes. He was too absorbed in drying my hair to pay it any mind. I leaned closer, intent on catching the drop before it fell, but strands of my hair fell like a curtain in front of my eyes when he used the towel to rub my head again and I huffed inwardly. 

I blew the hair away from my face. It fell over my eyes again.

“No fussing,” he said, as he swiped the hair away with a flick of his hand in the towel. 

As if the drop on the curve of his mouth had grown heavy, he pressed his lips together and licked it. Apparently satisfied, he tossed the towel to the side and picked up a small comb from under the sink. 

“That won’t detangle my hair,” I told him. “I have a brush on my purse that I use.” 

He nodded and left the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints in his wake. I adjusted the towel on my shoulders and turned to have a look in the mirror behind me. I pressed my lips together and bit them lightly to bring some colour back to them. They remained pale. I tipped my chin to try and have a look on my new bite when Dracula returned, my hairbrush in one hand, and a chair from his dining table in the other. 

“Sit and I’ll brush your hair for you,” he said as he placed the chair in front of the sink. He extended a hand for me, but I ignored it and set my feet on the ground to make sure my legs could keep me up. They wobbled but did not bend. Dracula watched me with a raised eyebrow, hand still extended in case my knees failed me but made no other movement to help as I took a step towards the chair and sat down. 

Hugging the towel close to me, I stared at Dracula through the mirror as he started brushing my hair from the tips. He held a strand close to my roots as he got rid of a knot. He didn’t tug on my hair once.

“You’ve done this before,” I said as he swiped the brush through a detangled strand. 

“Brushed a woman’s hair?” He asked, without raising his gaze to our reflection. I nodded. “My late wife enjoyed having her hair brushed, and she enjoyed brushing mine. I wore my hair long back then.”

“And Lucy?” The name left an acid taste on my tongue. Dracula continued brushing, unbothered. “Do you brush her hair, too?”

I held my breath. I’d asked the question on impulse but I was glad I had. 

“No. She didn’t like having her hair touched by anyone other than herself.”

“Didn’t? Past tense?” 

He regarded me with amused eyes. 

“I grew tired of Lucy.” He moved to my right to brush that side. “I won’t be seeing her anymore.” 

I tried smiling but it took effort to pull my cheeks up. The smile looked more like a wince. The news that I was the only one now should have made me happy.

He was mine forever, as I was his. He’d said so. 

Our deal was over. There was nothing left to wonder about. But wonder I did. Wondered about red silks, sharp teeth and iron in my mouth; about crazed eyes and red becoming pink. 

I drank my own blood and delighted in it; drank his blood and salivated at the thought. I lived a world of cravings in that dining room and satiated them all at once. And they were **_my_ **cravings, all mine, not his, not a bond. Without a bond to shield me, I was peeled.

Was this myself? 

“What’s on your mind?,” he questioned, fingers working carefully to untangle a mass of hair that not even the brush managed to work through. The feeling of those same fingers in my mouth invaded my thoughts and my tongue rubbed the roof of my mouth in remembrance. “Are you having regrets?” I stared at his face in the mirror, trying to capture his eyes and read his thoughts on them, but he kept his gaze locked on his task. “About giving in to me? A little horrified at your choices? I did bite your friends, and nearly killed a few of them, perhaps now you’re questioning yourself. How is Mallory, by the way? I trust that she’s making a steady recovery.” I kept silent. “I’ll take that as a confirmation. If you are having regrets, Y/N, and wondering if you can get away, I’ll discourage those thoughts right now. I will hunt you down, especially after we–”

“No.”

He stopped brushing at my answer and met my eyes.

“No?”

“I’m not regretting anything.”

“Really?” His eyebrows went up, as if he didn’t believe me.

“Stop needling me.”

“Then explain why you didn’t drink my blood.”

“I did drink–”

“When I offered you not less than 10 minutes ago,” he interrupted. His lips were thin with impatience. “I would like to understand why.” He swooped my hair to the side, exposing the bite on my neck. “Are you scared?”

I wished that we were on the bathtub again, in silence and in peace. But the peace was a mere illusion. I knew we would come to this. He would question me and test me. He always did. 

“Yes, actually,” I said through the knot on my throat. His jaw clenched. “I am scared. But not of you. I fell in love with you, despite–” he opened his mouth to say something “– no, let me speak. Despite what you’ve done and all that you’re capable of, I fell in love with you and I **_don’t_ ** regret it. But I’m scared of myself and what I can become.” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m human. A normal one, I always thought. I shouldn’t enjoy the taste of blood. I shouldn’t enjoy being covered in it. But I did, I **_do_ **.” My lip trembled. “What does that make me?”

He grinned.

“Perfect.”

“I’m serious, Dracula.”

“So am I.”

“Please, make an effort to help. I’m this much away” –I measured with my thumb and forefinger– “from losing it.” He laughed. “I want to be with you but I’m not sure what being a vampire means.”

“You proposed a deal to find out.”

“Yes, but I wasted it, didn’t I? Between being confused about you and then the Foundation… There’s not much I know.”

“Then ask.”

He resumed brushing my hair as he waited for a response. 

The face staring back at me in the mirror was my own. Would I have recognised myself covered in blood? Would I think it was a pretty image as Dracula thought? 

I imagined fangs in place of my incisors and canines, and screams of horror as I bore down on some pretty girl who begged for her life. My own laughter ringing in my ears. Death on my skin. And hunger, so much hunger. 

I blinked several times to clear my head. This is my face now. Clean, human. My teeth blunt, chewing on my cheeks. 

“Will I have to kill people?” I asked, unable to take my eyes away from the stranger in the mirror.

“You’ll want to.”

“How do you know?”

“Believe it or not, I **_am_ ** over five hundred years old and have had incredible amounts of practice in this matter,” he said, smiling at every word. “You’ll want to kill, and you’ll dream about it.”

“You were a killer long before you became a vampire. I won’t take your word so quickly when it comes to killing.”

“That is true. I’m very good at killing, always have been. However, I maintain my word. There is an urge for death that comes with the thirst for blood. It’s inevitable. I’ve seen it with all my little experiments.”

“But do I have to?”

“No, darling.” He gave me a reluctant smile. “You don’t have to. You can keep pets, if you like.” The way he raised one eyebrow told me we weren’t talking about the fluffy kind of pets. 

“Like you did with Renfield?”

“Renfield wasn’t a pet. Lucy, perhaps,” he shrugged, as he brushed through every strand of my hair to make sure they were completely detangled. “I’ve only drank Renfield once, you see, so he doesn’t qualify. Pets are good for when you need to be discreet–”

“Which you aren’t,” I quipped.

“– but it is fun.” He concluded, chuckling at my cheeky smile. “You can keep them alive for as long as you need them. Keeping more than one at a time is key for variety and to not tire them out, but it gets old fast. Eventually you’ll wonder how it feels to have a pulse slowing down between your teeth, to consume life and watch death take its place.”

“I may wonder, but I won’t act on it,” I muttered. Dracula raised his eyebrows, eyes sparking. “I won’t,” I repeated more strongly this time.

“Of course, darling,” he said, running the brush on my hair a few more times. “Done.” He rounded the chair and placed the hairbrush on the sink countertop. Standing in front of me, I noticed that the tips of his hair, pointing everywhere, were already drying. It was charming seeing him like this. He was always extremely composed every time I saw him. His chest hair was almost completely dry but the trail of dark hair leading to his belly button still had some beads of water. Earlier, he hadn’t allowed me to touch him and between ripping my clothes off and biting me, I hadn’t gotten a good look at **_him_ **. “I'll order you food and if you still feel weak afterwards, you’ll drink my blood.” 

I looked up at that, blinking as my brain worked to process what he said.

“Maybe you should reword that and add a question mark at the end of that sentence.”

“It wasn’t a question.” He grinned. He scooped me up in his arms as if I was child. My protests were choked back in a yelp at the suddenness of the movement. The world glassed over for a second. I laced my hands around his neck, glaring at him. “If I have to hold your mouth open and make you swallow, I will. I can’t have you strutting around weakened.”

“You were asleep for the past century but it’s time you know that we have advanced in many ways and now we have something called **_iron supplements_ **,” I told him as we left the bathroom. “You see, it comes in a tiny little pill and I take it 2 or 3 times a day–”

“My blood will have the same effect, if not better.”

“A while back you told me too much of your blood could affect me,” I prodded, gaze locked attentively on his face. I wasn’t taking notice of where he was taking me, so when he suddenly sat down, cradling me in his arms, I found myself grabbing onto his neck in fear of falling off. Turning my head, I saw large, fluffy pillows in a dark grey bedding. His bedroom. Decor kept the same palette as the rest of the penthouse. The only light on came from behind the black headboard. “How?”

He moved me so that I could completely lean my weight on the arm he had on my back and my behind fit nicely on his lap. My towel slipped up near my knee, exposing one of my thighs. I tried crossing my legs to emulate some sense of decency but Dracula’s arm tucked under my knees had me in a steel grip. Again, I tried moving my legs, subtly nudging his arm, but he didn’t let go.

“To be quite honest–” he began slowly, catching me in his gaze “–I’m not entirely sure what the effects can be on someone willing.” He released one of my legs and as I tried adjusting myself on his lap, I felt his hand on my thigh, caressing up and down. A lazy caress, almost absent. “My brides were rather limited on that front.”

“Tell me about them.” I asked. “When we broke into the Painted Hall, you mentioned you weren’t very successful with most of them. That they were nothing but shadows.”

“Must we reminisce?” He squeezed my thigh at the question.

“We must, yes. I need to know, and I need some assurances that I won’t become like them.” 

“You won’t.” His lips thinned, and I touched them with the tips of my fingers. They softened. 

“You can’t be sure,” I said, tracing his cupid’s bow and glancing up at those black eyes. I felt his lips stretching in a smile and I let my hand drop to his chest.

“I can.” He watched as his hand disappeared under the towel in his incessant caress. For a moment his hand slipped to my inner thigh and my breath hitched. His hand reappeared from underneath the towel and continued caressing me, apparently oblivious to my arousal. “None of them gave me their consent. Or loved me.”

“And those things make a difference?” I asked, a little breathlessly.

He followed the contours of my leg until my knee then again to my inner thigh. Up. Closer to where I was growing wet. His hand lingered between my thighs for a moment. A pulse started down low. He retreated a third time, and I choked back a whine. 

“Oh, yes, of course they do,” he said in a solemn tone, brows furrowed. “If you keep a flower caged, but give it water and light, do you think it’ll thrive as a wild flower does?”

“No.” The word was barely audible, and I shook my head to the sides to add to it.

“Correct.” His hand traveled up, and this time nudged my thighs to open. My fingers on the nape of his neck flexed. My heart beat at my center. At my throat it tried to break free, and gush as blood does. “I will not keep you caged, and everything you need I’ll give and you’ll take.” He frowned. “ _In love._ What a stunning concept.” I felt the warmth of his fingers hovering, a near touch, almost ghostly. I arched my back in invitation and rose my hips to find an ending to this teasing. “Stay still. I’m trying to have a conversation.”

“Are you?” It came out in a smirk.

“Yes. You wanted answers, I’ll give them to you.” Air left my lungs in a shaky breath as his fingers finally touched me. Probing me, as in an examination. Fingertips slid over my entrance, soaked as it was, gathering some of the slickness to continue his exploration. “My last experiments were my better ones,” he continued in a conversational tone. “They weren’t obedient to me. Always ruled by hunger and desire to kill, they lost themselves, but they kept their appearance. Their body didn’t die but their minds did. They never consented or asked for immortality, and they fought me, oh how they fought me at first.” As he talked, his fingers never stopped moving but they were just exploring, seeking to perhaps memorise its details, lingering in a spot he thought interesting as he observed me, serious as ever. “But they soon learned I was their only source of food. I fed them bite sized meals–” he smiled, and dipped a finger in. Fearful that he would stop, I managed to keep my body still. A gasp escaped anyway but it didn’t seem to discourage him as a second finger joined with ease and I closed my eyes at the feeling. His fingers were much thicker than mine, and longer. He hooked his fingers up, and kept them there, simply putting pressure. If I rocked my hips in just the right way they would pump that precious spot. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t bear it if he stopped. “... but the effects faded quickly. Are you listening?” 

I nodded, my lip quivering. He started withdrawing his fingers, so I hurried on, “Y-yes.” 

“Darling,” he murmured, dipping in again and this time pumping up, “what did I just say?” A moan was my reply. I looked up at him, hoping that he would leave it be, but the twinkle in his eyes told me he wouldn’t. He was having too much fun. “Answer me.” Suddenly, his fingers were gone and he gave me a light slap on my dripping folds. My hips jerked in surprise. The second slap was less delicate than the first, making me yelp, and left a stinging pain. He soothed it by rubbing my clit, which felt all the more sensitive after being mistreated. “Let me know you were paying attention or I’ll stop.”

“Y-your blood, you gave it to them sometimes.” I said through my teeth, shutting my eyes with my all strength to try and concentrate. Another light slap. “They begged for more than scraps, more than–” I couldn’t utter the word ‘babies’. “Your blood made them more coherent and–” two of his fingers entered me again. A reward for speaking, I guessed. I needed more, and I forced myself to continue. “–and stronger. But it didn’t w-work for long.” 

“You listened. Good,” he praised. At some point I had put my hands in fists to try and remain unmoving, but as those fingers hooked up and the palm of his hand pressed up against my clit, I grabbed onto his shoulders to keep myself steady. Wetness spread down my thighs and buttocks as obscene sounds filled my ears. Pressure built as he rocked his hand. “It didn’t work because they were failures from the start, but, you are perfect. Look at me.” I opened my eyes, and saw myself reflected in the darkness of his. “You’re mine. My bride, my lover.” His fingers inside me beckoned me to come to him. I resisted, and by doing so I started shaking. “My blood is yours to drink. You will become more of what you already are by drinking it, that’s all. Now, move with me.” 

Striving for breath betweens moans, I buried my face in his chest as I arched my back and moved my hips to meet his upward thrusts. His palm pressed harshly as I fought to accompany each rub. My body seized, losing the delightful cadence that Dracula and I were making, but even as my hips bucked and my legs contorted and quaked, he continued moving his hand to press and rub until I felt lightheaded. Pleasure uncoiled, and snapped like a whip, tearing gasps out of me, and then surged in a wave of torpor. 

I collapsed in his lap and, withdrawing his fingers, he gathered me up in a near hug. I watched as he raised his hand, embarrassingly soaked, and put two fingers in his mouth. I was still breathless, but I forced my body to straighten up and grabbed his face, burying myself in his lips and tongue to savour my own taste.

“Greedy,” he chuckled when I pulled back with my chest heaving. “I’m well fed, for now. But you’re not.” He rose where we were perched and laid me on the bed. “I’ll order something for you to eat. Sleep in the meanwhile.”

My eyes shut of their own will as the pillow cradled my head. I felt Dracula taking the towel off of my body and covering me with a blanket. As I drifted to sleep, I heard myself saying, “I’ll drink you.” 

There was no response. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not posting the chapters as consistently as I'd like to because work has been really time consuming lately and when I do get time to write I'm too exhausted to think up of anything coherent. Holidays are approacing and my workload has only increased so I don't know if I'll be able to post chpt 19 in December. I'll try but I can't guarantee anything. If that doesn't happen, then I wish all of you happy holidays. In the meanwhile, you can follow me on tumblr if you like (same username as here).
> 
> [edit: I slipped, and accidentally uploaded a version where the reader has a name (she does in my doc). Apologies, everybody. It’s fixed now.]


End file.
